


A Remover of Obstacles

by MistakenMagic



Series: Obstacles!Verse [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Military, Depression, Despite these tags it's not all doom and gloom!, Eventual Happy Ending, Fili is a fantastic wing-woman, Hurt/Comfort, In fact the entire nursing staff is shipper trash, Like so much hurt/comfort, M/M, Mental Illness, PTSD Bilbo, PTSD Thorin, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Radagast and his hilarious scrubs, Radagast ships it, Rule 63, Service Dogs, Soldier AU, Suicide Attempt, Thorin doing yoga is definitely a thing that happens in Chapter 2, Uncle Thorin, When Thorin met Fili, fem!Fili - Freeform, promise!, socially awkward Thorin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-22
Updated: 2016-08-13
Packaged: 2018-02-10 00:35:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 57
Words: 371,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2004093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistakenMagic/pseuds/MistakenMagic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Dis often chided her older brother for being a misanthropist. She did it so often it had become a term of endearment. It was true that Thorin struggled with people; he struggled to form and maintain relationships. Dr. Grey had diagnosed him with this and Thorin hadn’t the heart to tell him this wasn’t a symptom of his PTSD, it was a symptom of his personality. He exercised a sense of apathy with almost everyone he met… But Bilbo was different. Thorin actually found himself wanting to know more about him."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally meant to be a one-shot, but now that it’s finished, it feels much more like an extract from a larger story arc. So, if people are interested in this AU, I’m sure I’ll be pursuing it further and developing the Thorin/Bilbo plotline, hence the question mark. 
> 
> I’m usually one of those writers who has twenty chapters planned out before they’ve even finalised a title, but with this fic I’m pretty much stumbling around in the dark. So, if you have any suggestions, anything you’d like to see, please do let me know in a comment and we can cook something up together!

This was not the visitor Thorin had been expecting. As soon as they were ushered into the room, he bolted straight into the corner, standing at a diagonal to the door, as far away as was physically possible. With his heart rioting in his ribcage and his breaths coming short and sharp, Thorin stared at his niece, who simply stared back with a slightly nervous smile as she adjusted the visitors badge clipped to her brown leather jacket.

Attempting to swallow the lump in his throat, Thorin’s eyes flitted to Radagast. The nurse, who was almost a foot shorter than Thorin, caught his gaze with a calm, placating look. The encouraging smile that was almost lost in his wiry, grey-brown beard made the crow’s feet around his dark eyes deepen. This did nothing, however, to slow Thorin’s manic heartbeat and he curled his fingers into his sweaty palms. His body was in overdrive and seemed unable to decide on the most appropriate reaction; whether it would be best to throw up, black-out, cliff-dive into a panic attack, or ‘d’ all of the above. And so he was trapped in limbo, with the edge of his vision taking on a withered black frame, wishing that someone or something would just put him out of his misery.

Thorin’s perception of time often felt like a Salvador Dali painting – a metaphor helpfully supplied by his therapist, Dr. Grey – and he wasn’t sure how many seconds had slipped by when Radagast finally spoke: “Come now, Thorin, I know we’re a tad unsociable, but you can do better than this.”

If the situation had been a little less terrifying, Thorin was sure he would have scoffed at the understatement of “a tad unsociable”. Most inpatients saw their visitors in the dayroom, but Thorin had point blank refused to be herded into a space full of strangers just to speak with his sister. As he was still technically a new arrival, Dr. Grey had allowed him a grace period where Dis was able to visit him in his room, providing the door was left open. As his room was opposite the nurses’ station, there were always staff on-hand if anything went… _awry_.

And this thought was what had Thorin, at thirty-eight years old, hunched in the corner like a child afraid of the dark. There hadn’t been an incident since he was transferred from the military hospital in Kabul, but seeing his niece standing a few feet away from him, Thorin’s thoughts turned dark. All it would take was for another flashback to smack into him like a truck, and if she was standing too close…

“Uncle Thorin?”

Thorin’s heart, that was maintaining its frantic thump, contracted at the gentle but wary tone.

“Uncle… I’m Fili, your niece.”

There was a flicker of hurt in Fili’s light blue eyes – Oakenshield blue eyes – and Thorin realised she actually thought he didn’t recognise her, and this was what had prompted his reaction. He hadn’t seen her for four years; not since she was a shy and slightly sulky thirteen-year-old, all-limbs and awkwardness, having no idea how to talk to her soldier-uncle. But now there was a quiet confidence about her, and the way she held herself was uncannily like her mother, though she was broader in the shoulders and had more curves than Dis’ lithe frame. Facially, she was also Dis, but the dark blonde hair which she had pulled back into a sloppy ponytail was her father’s.

That gulf of four years seemed to fill the short distance between them, with all of Thorin’s baggage and brokenness strewn at their feet, but still, he found a voice to call across breach: “I know… I know who you are.” Thorin had hoped this would be reassuring for Fili, but the croak that struggled from his lips was probably very counter-productive. Radagast had challenged him to do better than his usual, and so he started small: “Hello.”

“Hi,” Fili replied brightly, and her whole face lit up.

It was enough to distract Thorin from his panic for at least half a second, and his chest felt infinitely less heavy because of it. He still felt his fingers curling over the precipice of anxiety, but he hadn’t fallen yet… Even his eternally pessimistic and wilfully stubborn mind could admit that this was a fairly good sign.

“Why don’t you take a seat, Fili?” Radagast asked kindly, gesturing to the two chairs by the window which sat either side of a low, circular table. The nurse was getting unnervingly good at reading Thorin’s anxiety levels, and it was clear he had noticed this shaft of light in Thorin’s mind which gave permission for this progression.

“Sure,” Fili answered.

Thorin’s eyes followed her as she moved to the chair closest to the door and sank down into it, dropping her black rucksack at her side. There was a strange cardboard tube sticking out of one side of it which piqued Thorin’s interest.

“Oh, it’s lovely and warm here,” Fili sighed, closing her eyes for a second against the sun.

Thorin had lost most of his accent when training in the south and overseas, but Fili’s accent was definitely a Yorkshire one and particularly broad in her vowels. It was somehow comforting. He watched as she transferred her visitors badge to her rust-coloured tank top and shrugged off her jacket, carefully placing it over the back of the chair. This action communicated one thing to Thorin: she was staying for a while and so he better get his act together. He wondered if Radagast had told her to do it before they came in.

“Right, I’ll leave you both to it,” Radagast said cheerily. “I’ll be at the nurses’ station if you need anything.”

Before Thorin could protest, the nurse disappeared. He closed the door half-way, creating at least the illusion of privacy, and was gone, leaving Thorin still standing in the corner with Fili waiting patiently by the window. He knew this was important. This was something not to fuck up, like everything else. Now Thorin’s mind had acknowledged the momentous nature of the situation, the pressure, by rights, should have crippled him, but finally… finally Thorin decided to actually utilise what he and Dr. Grey had been practicing in their sessions all week. Straightening up, he inhaled through his nose, taking in the deepest breath he could manage, all the while counting in his head… _One… Two… Three…_ (Dr. Grey had told him to aim for five, but if he didn’t get there on the first try, it didn’t matter.) He then exhaled… _One… Two… Three… Four…_

He was sure he looked like an idiot, but Fili didn’t react. She began to fiddle with the buckle on one of her boots, that were of a darker leather than her jacket, clearly wanting to give him some space to collect himself. He inhaled again, reaching four this time, and exhaled, reaching five. His heart rate slowed to a steady gallop. His chest gave painful twinges every so often, but it was bearable, and he seemed to have got his lungs on side.

Fili looked up. She studied Thorin for a moment, possibly deliberating whether or not to start a conversation. A grin appeared and she spoke softly: “So, Radagast is, er, interesting…?”

Thorin inhaled and exhaled before answering: “That’s one way of putting it.” His voice didn’t sound as hollow as it had before, which was encouraging.

“And what’s with the scrubs?” Fili asked, the grin remaining.

Unlike most of the staff, who wore blue scrubs, Radagast always donned a pair of scrubs that were a questionable brown colour. “His last name is ‘Brown’,” Thorin answered, finding his niece’s smile infectious. “And he wears brown scrubs… I think it’s meant to be a joke.”

“Ah, a pretty hilarious one,” Fili said wryly.

“Yes,” Thorin agreed, appreciating the hint of sarcasm in Fili’s tone. He was lacking many things in his life, but the absence of cynicism in most of the people he had come into contact with in the past two weeks proved particularly painful. Even Dis had retired her acerbic wit for the purpose of her visits.

Spurred on by this, Thorin decided it was time to move from his place in the corner. He cringed at his own shuffling gait, the standard issue white slippers making a soft slap on the linoleum floor, but once again, Fili’s expression didn’t change. Hearing his own faded footsteps made him feel like an old man, and the muted colours of his grey sweatpants and white t-shirt didn’t help the lingering feeling that he wasn’t actually present… that any second he would simply cease to exist.

A shadow passed over Fili’s face, mirroring Thorin’s own troubled expression. _One… Two… Three… Four… Five…_ He straightened up again when he reached the chair, his fingers folding over the back of it, and forcibly dragged his mind onto other things. Now that introductions had been made and Thorin was yet to ruin his niece’s life, he realised there were several questions that had been stacking up whilst he was battling with his breathing.

“Does your mother know you’re here?” Thorin asked quietly, flexing his fingers over the chair.

The look on Fili’s face supplied the answer, but he was impressed with how quickly her expression became neutral again. “No,” she replied, before adding: “I came straight from school… Is, er, is that okay?”

Thorin always asked after his niece and nephew when Dis visited, but there had never been any talk of bringing them to the hospital, and Thorin had never questioned that. It must have taken a fair amount of initiative for Fili to organise the visit, and he found himself admiring the rebelliousness of the act.

“It’s okay,” came Thorin’s answer as he slowly slid down into the chair, opposite Fili.

It was a long-established fact that Dis knew everything, and therefore her daughter’s visit was unlikely to remain a secret for long, but it was still the thought that counted. Thorin saw the fractional sink of Fili’s shoulders as tension was released there, but her hand still shot up to fiddle with the top of her right ear where Thorin clocked a silver helix piercing. Watching her, he felt the sharp thump of his heart. He had had a similar piercing when he was sixteen, but had been forced to take it out when he joined the army two years later. Twenty years on, there was no noticeable mark left on Thorin’s ear: proof that some wounds in this life were actually capable of healing.

Unable to place the emotion that was stirring in the pit of his stomach, Thorin’s eyes moved once again to the black rucksack and the odd container protruding from it.

Fili followed his gaze. “Oh, I, um, I brought you a few things…”

This was another unexpected development. Thorin watched intently as Fili unzipped the top of the rucksack.

“They checked through everything when I arrived,” Fili admitted. “Kind of like being at airport security… But the only thing they confiscated was my fencing foil.”

Not that the meeting wasn’t already surreal, but Thorin felt another bizarre turn had been taken. “… Fencing foil?”

“I had practice at lunch today,” Fili elaborated. “Anyway, it’s hardly lethal… The combination of Kili and archery, however…”

“Archery?” Thorin asked weakly.

“Yeah,” Fili grinned. “Can you imagine the look on Mum’s face when he brought home a bow and arrow?”

Thorin couldn’t help but smile at that. Fili’s brother, Kili, was five years her junior and, from what Thorin could remember, her opposite. As dark as she was fair, Kili balanced out Fili’s reticence with his boyish bravado. Picturing his nephew wreaking havoc, using Dis’ dishes for target practice, kept the smile on his face… But fencing and archery? When he was at school, you either played football or you didn’t, and that was that.

Fili pulled the brown cylindrical tube from her bag. “I popped into HMV yesterday and picked you up a couple of posters,” she explained. “Thought they might, er, help make your room feel a bit more like… you.”

Thorin couldn’t help but glance around the room. It was clichéd in its clinicalness. The walls were white, but at least they weren’t padded. “Posters?” Thorin asked, retreating to the safety of single-word sentences as his heart gave a few threateningly fast thumps.

“Yeah, Mum told me you’re a big fan of Queen, so I’ve got you the Wembley ’86 poster and the one that has the album cover from Bohemian Rhapsody on it.”

Thorin tensed and then simply stared, at first struggling to process this information… He and Dr. Grey had discussed his difficulties with connecting to his life outside of soldiering. The details that made up a person – their interests, hobbies, their favourite foods, the music they listened to – Thorin had trouble recognising these things in himself, as if they all belonged to another person, someone he once met a long time ago. Nevertheless, Fili’s words were filtering through the fog, reconnecting the links between the past and present that Thorin had thought permanently destroyed… He could picture both the posters she was describing perfectly. When he was fourteen, a Bohemian Rhapsody poster had been plastered above his bed… Had Dis told Fili this?

Fili was studying him, and there was an element of caution lurking in her blue eyes. “I asked Radagast and he said we’re okay to put these up if we use white-tack,” she said, her tone becoming a little sheepish. “If… If that’s alright with you?”

Thorin knew Fili was carefully trying to feel out a faux-pas. He was sure his rigid posture and whatever intense expression was currently slapped on his face wasn’t helping. “Yes, that’s… I’d like that.”

Thorin’s perception of time may have been akin to a melting clock, but he still knew that the pause that followed was particularly long. Fili showed no signs of discomfort, but Thorin gave himself a mental kick as a reminder that she was only seventeen and probably working on overdrive to retain her composure when confronted with her emotionally compromised and beyond awkward uncle. The least he could do was make some effort to continue the conversation.

“I’m guessing your mum also told you about the hair?”

“The Brian May perm?” Fili said, with a smirk. “Yeah, she showed me a couple of photos… Not one of your finest moments?”

“No,” Thorin agreed, unconsciously reaching up to the now short, greying hair at his temples. His fingers froze when he touched the raised, pink lump of skin… but Fili didn’t comment, and so Thorin continued: “Though it wasn’t as bad as your Uncle Dwalin’s mohawk.”

“Oh, I’ve seen photos of that too… You have to admit it was pretty impressive.”

The silence that followed was easier than the last. Fili placed the unopened tube on the floor and began to root around in the rucksack again. From the bag’s depths, she produced a stack of brightly-coloured magazines and laid them out on the low table between them.

“Just some light reading,” she said, continuing to fan out the magazines. “Thought some trashy mags would help get you up to speed on ‘Broken Britain’ and all the celebrity drug scandals you’ve missed.”

“Of course,” Thorin said, his eyes sweeping over the glossy covers. An odd feeling, possibly something akin to fondness, was curling up comfortably in Thorin’s gut… He was still very aware of his breathing, and he couldn’t say he was particularly relaxed, but he knew this was very probably the closest to ‘normal’ he had felt since… Well, since the bullet.

“I had a little look through some of these last night, I hope you don’t mind,” Fili continued, retrieving a magazine covered with scarlet lettering. She flipped through to a page she seemed to have memorised and presented Thorin with an A4 spread of some actor’s mid-section. “Thought you might appreciate the ‘Torso of the Week’ in this one.”

Thorin’s heart dropped into his stomach. His eyes widened as the revelation winded him. “You… You know that…?” He could feel his lungs begin to shrivel.

“Oh God…” Fili breathed, looking stricken. “Mum told me… I didn’t think… If… If you’d rather she hadn’t said anything…”

 _One… Two… Three… One… Two… Three… Four…_ Thorin focused one half of his mind on counting as he breathed, and the other half on talking himself down from the ledge… or at least from bolting back into the corner. He had never had any sort of official ‘coming out’. His parents had gone to their graves without ever knowing – or if they had had any inkling, he had never confirmed it – and Dis only knew because he had spent most of his leave fifteen years ago moping over the end of a complicated affair with a junior officer. She had quite literally backed him into a corner and told him that if he didn’t answer her questions truthfully they would never find his body. Being faced with Fili now, despite her resemblance to her mother, was, admittedly, far less terrifying. _One… Two… Three… Four… One… Two… Three… Four… Five…_

“Uncle, I’m so sorry…” Fili whispered, her face noticeably paler. “It was a really stupid thing for me to say… I’m such an idiot… Shit… Shit…”

The irony of the situation, that Fili was now obviously panicking that she had ruined the meeting, was not lost on Thorin. He could see his own anxieties mirrored in her grimace. Perhaps they could have simultaneous panic attacks and it would be a great bonding experience.

Fili was now muttering long strings of single-syllable expletives under her breath. With no small amount of effort, Thorin once again reached out to close the gulf that was threatening to reopen between them. “Fili, please…” His tone was controlled, but managed a kind of paternal gentleness he never thought himself capable of. “I don’t mind, really…”

“Really?” Fili asked, some colour returning to her cheeks.

“Really,” Thorin confirmed.

“Okay…” Fili let out a breath and momentarily lifted the offending magazine up to cover her face, as if to extinguish the worst of her embarrassment. This gave Thorin a full view of the celebrity’s undeniably chiselled abs, before the magazine came down again to reveal Fili’s slightly flushed face.

“I, er, could show you what else I brought?” Fili offered.

Thorin wasn’t blind to the fact that she didn’t seem ready to look him in the eye just yet, but he nodded and his gaze moved back to the rucksack. Fili reached her hand right in, seeking something out at the bottom of the bag. What she produced was by far the strangest of her gifts to him and only underscored the surrealism of the situation. It appeared to be a small, burnished bronze statue of an elephant. Fili held it out to him with a shy smile that reflected a flicker of her thirteen-year-old self. Thorin took it, surprised that it weighed far less than he expected, and examined the icon cradled in his hands… It wasn’t actually an ordinary elephant. Taking a closer look, he counted no less than four human-shaped arms that all appeared to be holding different objects. Intricately carved patterns covered its rotund belly and wrapped around the statue’s base, which seemed to be some sort of flower. Thorin lifted his gaze to find Fili looking at him expectantly, and he had absolutely no idea what to say… It was akin to a situation where a child hands you an incomprehensible drawing and is clearly awaiting praise, but you’re clueless as to how to go about complimenting it.

“I work at the Oriental Museum on Saturdays,” Fili explained quietly. “One of the workshops we run is in the Indian gallery; it’s taught me some pretty cool stuff about Hindu gods.”

Thorin glanced down at the peculiar statue. It did look vaguely familiar now, but he waited for Fili to elaborate.

“This is Ganesh, the elephant-headed god,” Fili continued. “Patron of the arts, and the remover of obstacles.”

“Erm, right…” Thorin said, raising an eyebrow at the remover of obstacles. He wondered if Fili was expecting him to make some fundamental connection here, but his mind was stubbornly drawing a blank.

“They sell these in the gift shop and I have one on my window sill at home,” Fili mused. “People pray to Ganesh to ask him to remove the obstacles placed in their paths… I tend to plead with him every night to let me pass my AS-levels.”

Strange as it was, Thorin finally understood what Fili was getting at. He had a roadblock ten feet high in his path… He knew bargaining with this palm-sized statue wasn’t going to change a thing, but somehow the idea of praying to an elephant-headed hybrid sitting on a flower seemed to make a lot more sense than talking to the God he had grown up with. It was a bizarre souvenir from a truly bizarre afternoon, and Thorin knew Dr. Grey would be rubbing his hands gleefully at its metaphorical resonance.

“I know it’s probably stupid, but I figured you could put this on your window sill?” Fili ventured tentatively. “Maybe it might… I don’t know, I guess I just find the little guy comforting sometimes.”

Fili was looking sheepish again, but Thorin returned a small smile and slowly set the statue of Ganesh down on the window sill beside them. It occurred to him then that his niece had put so much thought and effort into these gifts, and he hadn’t even said thank you. He pictured Dis smacking him round the back of the head, with a scolding “Thorin!”.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice sounding smaller than he expected. “Thank you, Fili,” he repeated. “I… er, I really do appreciate it.”

“No problem,” Fili replied, her smile once again lighting up her face. Her blue eyes moved slowly around the room for a moment. “Just thought your room should be a bit more personal, you know? I kind of had a nosey through a few windows when I first got here. The guy next door has a lot of books.”

Thorin froze as Bilbo’s face flashed before his eyes and his stomach knotted itself. They had only spoken once, when Thorin had launched his own prison break operation on his second night in the hospital. Bilbo had seen him trying to sneak past his room.

_“What are you doing?”_

_“I’m discharging myself.”_

_“No, you’re doing a runner, and I think we both know that’s not a very good idea.”_

The honey-haired soldier had detained Thorin in his doorway long enough for one of the night-staff to notice and Thorin had been escorted back to bed. Thorin’s refusal to visit the dayroom or get involved in any of the ward’s activities had meant they hadn’t met since. He would never admit it, but the only incentive he had for leaving his room again was the possibility of running into Bilbo. However, if he finally mustered the courage, and gathered together all the shreds of his shattered sanity, and made the journey to the dayroom only to find Bilbo wasn’t there, he wasn’t sure his mind would survive it.

Thorin had been so caught up in this thread of thought that he hadn’t noticed Fili watching his changing expressions.

“Oh,” she whispered… and then a shit-eating grin appeared. “Oh, okay… So,” she added casually. “What’s his name?”

“It – It’s not like that,” Thorin stammered, and damn it, his cheeks actually felt hot. He told himself to snap out of it; he was not the teenage girl in the room, and it was one conversation. Fili continued to stare at him with that infuriating smile. How on earth had she figured this out without him saying one word? “You are exactly like your mother, you know that?”

“So I’ve been told,” Fili replied, leaning forward slightly. “You do know his name, don’t you? If not, I’m sure I could find out for you…”

“Bilbo,” Thorin blurted out, feeling his whole chest cavity contract. _One… Two… One… Two… Three…_ That was it, he was going to have a panic attack over a man he had absolutely no affiliation with. There was no hope for him, not even Ganesh could remove this obstacle… This short, honey-haired obstacle with sympathetic green-grey eyes…

“Uncle?” Fili looked concerned now. “I’m sorry, I was only messing… We don’t have to talk about him, if you don’t want to.”

That final part of the sentence hung in the air between them like an invitation, but also gave him a get-out clause. Fili waited patiently as Thorin flexed his fingers and studied the one fraying thread on the edge of his slipper. _One… Two… Three… Four… Five…_

“He’s an officer in the Intelligence Corps,” Thorin began quietly. “He’s, er, he’s very… clever. He has a master’s degree in Military History…”

Thorin trailed off. He had gleaned bits and pieces of Bilbo’s life from the one meeting with Bilbo himself and from a not-so-subtle interrogation of Radagast. The nurse had seemed so genuinely thrilled that Thorin was actually attempting to make conversation during one of his routine obs that he had answered Thorin’s questions without comment. From this, Thorin had discovered Bilbo’s academic background and, although Radagast was understandably sketchy about the circumstances that had brought Bilbo here, he understood that a routine surveillance duty had gone awry. Bilbo had been listed as MIA and when he was found, he was not the same.

“That explains the books,” Fili said thoughtfully. “I wonder if…”

Fili stopped when three soft knocks sounded on the half-closed door and Radagast, in all his brown-scrubbed glory, stepped into the room, effectively putting an end to the conversation.

“Visiting hours are over, I’m afraid,” the nurse announced, with honest contrition. His dark eyes lit up at the sight of Thorin sitting opposite Fili like a fully-functioning human being, and a wide smile appeared as he stepped into the room.

“Oh… Right.” Fili reached down and zipped up her rucksack.

Thorin’s thoughts were torn away from Bilbo as he watched his niece pull on her jacket and straighten up. He sat, awkwardly staring up at her for a moment, before slowly getting to his feet.

“This, er, this was really nice,” Fili said, with a sincere smile as she shouldered her rucksack.

Thorin was sure she was the first person to ever deem a meeting with him ‘nice’, and he appreciated that. “Thank you for coming,” he replied softly.

Fili fidgeted with her jeans pocket, lingering on the spot. “I could come visit again, if that’s okay?”

There was a hesitance in her tone, but Thorin managed a smile. “I’d like that.”

Radagast was positively beaming.

“So… I know you’re not big on physical contact at the moment, but maybe we could compromise with an awkward handshake?” Fili asked, her voice once again hesitant despite the humour.

It was true that since arriving here, Thorin didn’t like to be touched. This was a fact that his sister disregarded every time she visited; she violated his personal space with a bone-crushing hug at the end of every meeting. Thorin was, therefore, more than willing to take up Fili’s offer. Without a word, he held out his hand. Fili smiled as she reached out and they shook, firmly and not awkwardly.

“I’ll see you later, Uncle,” she said, her blue eyes bright.

Thorin lowered his head in acknowledgement, and then Radagast ushered Fili out of the room. One backward glance at Thorin showed that he was practically shitting himself with excitement at the turn of events.

Thorin continued to stand in the middle of the room, staring at the open door long after Radagast and Fili had gone. His fingers slowly reached up to trace the lumpy line of scar tissue that ran along his left temple, nestled in the short, black prickles of once-shaved hair. It was the scar Fili had never commented upon, had never seemed to have noticed.

The bullet that skimmed his skull had missed his brain by less than a centimetre. They had all told Thorin how lucky he was. He had thought about that fraction of a centimetre, had become obsessed by it, wondering if everything would simply be better for everyone involved if the bullet had found its mark. Before the panic attacks and the nightmares came, it was this thought that visited him in the dark, wrapped itself around his mind like a lover, offering the solace of an alternative reality, of oblivion. It had made him pull out his IVs in the Kabul military hospital until they had been forced to strap him down onto the bed…

But for the last, ridiculous half-hour, the fraction of a centimetre hadn’t haunted him. For half an hour, he had actually felt a little human again. Thorin glanced at the statue of Ganesh on the window sill that was now glinting and golden in the sunlight. Perhaps obstacles were not meant to be removed all at once. Perhaps they were meant to be worked on bit by bit, until there was nothing but dust in the road.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now ‘The Battle of the Five Armies’ teaser trailer has been released, I thought I’d better get Chapter Two posted. I know we’re all probably still freaking out and crying and hyperventilating, so it’s time to relax, breathe, and count to five with Thorin…

“You’re making that one up.”

“No, see… It’s one of the most common poses.”

Fili pushed her iPhone across the mat towards Thorin. Sure enough, below the leotard-clad figure displayed on the yoga app was the caption: ‘Downward Facing Dog’. Thorin furrowed his brow. It still sounded like one of the dubious sex positions his friends would make up when they were teenagers, trying to claim they had got lucky the night before.

_“No, I swear to God, we did do it!”_

_“Oh yeah? In what position?”_

_“Well… Well, it was the Downward Facing Dog, actually!”_

Thorin turned to his niece, giving her a withering look. Fili had lowered herself back onto her knees and was tucking a few flyaway strands of blonde hair behind her ear, the rest still being securely fastened in a tight bun at the back of her head. She returned a small smirk.

The yoga had been Fili’s idea. Her enthusiasm made Thorin suspect she had been Googling his condition outside of her visits, but he decided not to confront her about that. Fili hadn’t even finished her ‘pitch’ before Radagast rushed off to commandeer two yoga mats from the dayroom, and Dr. Grey had, not surprisingly, supported Fili’s suggestion and explained the healing powers of yoga in detail. The therapist thought it would help combat Thorin’s anxiety and insomnia, and aid his relaxation. Thorin, on the other hand, thought it was a load of bollocks.

He didn’t feel particularly calm, resting on his hands and knees beside Fili; he felt like an idiot. Thorin had spent a good ten minutes protesting and essentially throwing a rather petulant tantrum, but in the end he had agreed. Not because he actually believed the yoga would help him… but because it would make Fili happy. He wasn’t a very good human being at the moment, but maybe he could still be a good uncle.

“Do you want to give it a go?” Fili asked, her smirk softening to a smile. “The torture’s almost over, I promise.”

Flexing his fingers on the dark blue mat beneath him, Thorin exhaled, and then gave a short nod. Fili wiggled a little in her three-quarter leggings and then curled her bare toes, pushing herself up until her body formed a kind of mountain-shaped peak, like two sides of a triangle. Following her lead, Thorin tried to mimic the pose, rising from his knees and straightening his arms. Thanks to the horrors of physio and occupational therapy, this wasn’t the most undignified position Thorin had ever found himself in, but he still had a strong desire to meet the moron who had invented ‘Downward Facing Dog’ and punch him squarely in the face. His muscles were now aching in protest and he could feel his whole body begin to groan; there may have even been a creak. He really was getting old.

“Okay… Now lower yourself onto your heels.”

Thorin blinked at Fili, the confusion apparent as he took in her effortless posture.

“Do you, er, mind if I show you?”

Fili was asking his permission to touch him. She was always careful, and Thorin liked that she respected his boundaries more than her mother ever did. He dropped down onto his knees before he seriously injured himself and inhaled slowly. Fili mirrored him, and then rocked back into a crouch, watching him with her usual patience. Finally, Thorin nodded and she straightened up next to him.

“Can you push up again? Try to do it with your toes, not your knees…”

Following these instructions, Thorin returned to his former position, finding it easier to support himself when the weight was focused in his feet.

“I’m just going to move you onto your heels.”

Fili waited a few seconds before gently moving her hands to Thorin’s sweatpant-clad ankles and guiding his feet down from his toes to his heels. He felt the muscles stretch at the back of his legs, but he supposed that was probably a good sign.

“Now try to straighten your back against my hand.”

Fili’s hand came to rest flat against the middle of his back and he straightened out his spine accordingly.

“Voilá! Downward Facing Dog!”

Thorin, unfortunately, didn’t share his niece’s excitement. Fili had talked him through an array of animal-related poses, but this was by far the most ridiculous. And not remotely relaxing. In their next session, he was going to make sure Dr. Grey knew he should be sleeping with one eye open. Fili had returned to her mat and was now Thorin’s mirror image, though she seemed far less upset about it.

“And hold…”

Thorin counted to five in his head, as he and Fili had been doing all afternoon. When Dis asked him yesterday how his therapy was going, he told her he was getting very good at counting to five.

“And rest.”

Thorin gratefully collapsed back onto his knees. The look he gave Fili as she slowly lowered herself clearly communicated that he had reached his limit, or actually long-since surpassed it.

“We’ll finish in Lotus Pose,” Fili said knowingly, swiping her phone so that this final position appeared.

There was a strange smile on her face and an unnerving light in her blue eyes as she folded her legs into the traditional meditation pose even Thorin could recognise. He wondered if it came from a sense of achievement in getting her grouchy, middle-aged uncle to do yoga. Sitting opposite her on his mat, he crossed his legs. The soles of Fili’s feet were pointing to the ceiling, but he wasn’t sure he could manage that, so he cheated slightly. Fili didn’t comment.

“Breathe in… And out…”

After three weeks at the hospital, Thorin was getting rather good at this breathing lark. He inhaled and exhaled slowly, beyond relieved that he had survived his first yoga ordeal without hurting anyone.

He watched as Fili placed her hands together, as if she were praying, and murmured: “Namaste”. She was definitely grinning now and her eyes had moved to the door behind them. Thorin turned to follow her gaze.

Bilbo was standing in the doorway.

“Oh, er, sorry,” he said, scratching the back of his neck with a small smile. “I was just passing and, well, this isn’t something you see every day…”

After three weeks at the hospital, Thorin wasn’t good at breathing at all. He felt himself go rigid as he stared at Bilbo. _One… Two… One… One…_ His heart was a fist, furiously thumping against his ribs. He hadn’t seen Bilbo since his first week, and now of course their next meeting occurred when he was experimenting with yoga, clearly looking like a total prat. And… oh fucking hell, how long had Bilbo been standing in the doorway? Had he seen him with his arse in the air in bloody ‘Downward Facing Dog’? He was beginning to ask himself why on earth the opinion of a man he barely knew mattered so much, when Fili spoke.

“Hi there… I’m Fili, Thorin’s niece.”

Thorin distracted himself from his impending existential crisis to find Fili had risen onto her knees and was holding her hand out towards Bilbo… _obviously trying to invite him into the room_. He gave her his best ‘Judas’ look, but she ignored it.

They had moved the table and chairs by the window to the corner of the room to make space for the yoga mats, and now Bilbo crossed the distance from the door to where they were sitting. Avoiding eye contact, Thorin followed Bilbo’s scuffed white slippers – that poked out from red and blue tartan pyjama bottoms – as they moved across the floor towards him.  _One… Two… One… Two…_ The voice in his head sounded like it was testing a microphone, and Thorin wanted to break something.

“Lovely to meet you, Fili. I'm Bilbo,” Bilbo said, his accent soft and southern. He shook Fili’s hand. “And nice to finally put a name to the face.”

Thorin watched as his niece’s expression melted from confusion to horror.

“I’ve seen you peering into my room a few times,” Bilbo said, with a hint of amusement.

Fili continued to look mortified. It seemed she was being about as subtle as her uncle when it came to Bilbo.

“Oh God… I’m sorry…” Fili stuttered, suddenly seeming much younger than her seventeen years. Thorin told himself that her embarrassment didn’t make him feel fractionally better.

“Please, no need to apologise,” Bilbo replied warmly, though the amused smile remained. “But I must apologise for disturbing you, I’ll let you get on…”

“Oh, we’ve just finished up,” Fili said, her composure returning. “Why don’t you join us?”

She gestured to the empty expanse of yoga mat next to Thorin. Thorin wanted to throw up. Bilbo’s grey-green eyes slowly moved to him, his expression a little wary.

“If you don’t mind…?”

Feeling the weight of Bilbo’s gaze stamping on his windpipe, Thorin searched desperately for a response, but, not unexpectedly, none came. Frustration made his fingers curl into his palms… What was it about Bilbo that made him so nervous?

“Of course we don’t,” Fili said kindly, attempting to hide the concerned glance she cast in her uncle’s direction.

This wasn’t lost on Bilbo, but when Thorin still didn’t answer, he seemed to decide the risk was worth it. Pulling his hands from the front pockets of his grey, zip-through hoodie, he took a seat on the mat beside Thorin, mimicking his cross-legged position. Thorin’s stomach gave a sharp jolt when he realised Bilbo was sitting on his left side, and therefore his scar was on full display, but Bilbo’s eyes never flickered to it the way most people’s did.

“You know, they run a yoga class on Thursday mornings,” he said quietly, his gaze focused on Thorin’s face. “Perhaps we could go to the next one?”

Thorin could hear the stuttering thuds of his heart in his ears and his brain flashed up an ‘error’ sign. _One… Two… One… Two… Three…_ He forced his lips to move, to form some kind of answer. “Erm…” Brilliant. Someday they would build fifty-foot statues to commemorate his eloquence.

Bilbo simply smiled. “How about you let me know closer to the time?”

There was no mockery in his tone, and he spoke to Thorin as if they were both normal human beings having a conversation. It was the way he had spoken to him when they first met; something which had made Thorin linger in his doorway. Whereas Fili was often hesitant, and Radagast and Dis could be patronising, and Dr. Grey revelled in his own omniscience, Bilbo was just… normal. Thorin liked that. It wasn’t something he expected to find in this place.

“You studied at the University of Birmingham?”

It seemed to have taken an age, but Fili had decided to come to the rescue. Her blue eyes flitted to the red and blue crest embroidered onto the left side of Bilbo’s hoodie.

“Oh, yes… Undergrad and Postgrad.” Bilbo picked at a loose thread curling on the edge of his sleeve. “This thing’s almost ten years old now.”

With Bilbo’s attentions drawn back to Fili, Thorin found breathing became easier. He could also look at Bilbo and still form a coherent thought. The hoodie did indeed look worn; there were signs of darning on one elbow and a few black ink stains around the right sleeve. It was relatively baggy and seemed to swallow Bilbo, making him seem smaller than he actually was. Thorin wondered if it had once fit better… He also wondered if there was a reason Bilbo was wearing it despite the stuffy summer weather.

“It’s one of my UCAS options, I was thinking of heading to the Open Day in a couple of weeks,” Fili explained, untangling a strand of hair from her helix piercing.

“Really? What are you hoping to study?”

Bilbo’s voice was full of genuine interest and his smile was warm, his face animated. It was almost impossible to realise how pale his skin actually was when he was smiling like that, but Thorin had noticed it as soon as Bilbo sat down next to him. The pallor of his face only served to emphasise the dark shadows chalked under his eyes. The thought hadn’t occurred to him the night they met. Perhaps it had been the dim lighting of the hospital corridor; perhaps the adrenaline had rendered Thorin blind. But now his stomach twisted in on itself. He knew the signs of a fellow insomniac, of someone who spent every night fighting off their sedatives because of what came to them in the dark…

“I’ve been looking at their joint honours courses; the BA in Anthropology and Political Science looks really cool.”

Fili’s voice diverted Thorin’s train of thought back onto brighter things, and they shared a brief glance before Bilbo replied.

“Oh, excellent! I lived with an anthropologist in my third year. I believe she’s now working with a conservation team in South America.”

“See, my mum’s persuaded me not to do a gap year, but I’d still like to travel…”

For some reason the mention of this anthropologist struck a chord with Thorin. She and Bilbo had lived together, but had they _been_ together…? And why did the answer matter to him?

Dis often chided her older brother for being a misanthropist. She did it so often it had become a term of endearment. It was true that Thorin struggled with people; he struggled to form and maintain relationships. Dr. Grey had diagnosed him with this and Thorin hadn’t the heart to tell him this wasn’t a symptom of his PTSD, it was a symptom of his personality. He exercised a sense of apathy with almost everyone he met… But Bilbo was different. Thorin actually found himself wanting to know more about him.

“So, did you join the army straight out of Uni?”

Thorin’s chest contracted as his eyes moved to Bilbo. This wasn’t a question he would have asked. But Bilbo didn’t seem fazed and the warmth in his expression remained.

“I did. But I’ve worked behind-the-scenes for most of my service. Mere prattle without practice is all my soldiership,” he replied, with a soft laugh.

“Othello.”

Bilbo and Fili both turned to stare at Thorin. They seemed as surprised as he was that he had decided to join the conversation.

“That… That’s from _Othello_ ,” Thorin murmured, trying to swallow the lump in his throat.

Bilbo looked genuinely impressed, and his smile was more than distracting. “It is. Act One, Scene One… You know it?”

Thorin’s eyes moved to Fili just long enough for her to give him an encouraging nod. He was glad she refrained from a thumbs up, though something told him she had been considering it. _One… Two… Three… Four…_

“I, er, studied it in school,” he replied, silently pleading with his mind and his lungs to play nicely with each other. “My English teacher knew I was determined to join up… so she focused on the military background to try and keep me interested.”

“Well, it seems to have worked,” Bilbo said cheerfully. “I quoted it in one of my essays on the Ottoman Empire, so I still have a copy in my room. A 1967 Arden second edition… You’re more than welcome to borrow it, though I have to warn you, it’s covered in my undergraduate scribbles.”

Thorin’s mind began to conjure possible images of Bilbo’s handwriting… He wondered if it would be small and scratchy, like most academics, or –

“Ah, Bilbo, there you are!”

Radagast, the brown-scrubbed moment-ruiner, had appeared in the doorway. Thorin glared at him to little effect. The nurse was irritatingly immune to his scowls.

“Dr. Grey was expecting you,” Radagast said, eyeing Bilbo with good-natured reproach.

A barely perceptible shadow crossed Bilbo’s face. “Yes, sorry… I’m afraid I got a little side-tracked.”

“So I see,” Radagast replied, and Thorin could practically feel the glee radiating from him. “It’s wonderful to see you making friends, Thorin.”

There was that patronising tone again. Bilbo caught Thorin’s eye and his gaze was knowing, sympathetic. It helped. There was also a hint of sagacity that made Thorin wonder just how long Bilbo had been here.

“It’s time I got going too, Uncle,” Fili announced, getting to her feet. “Mum will ring the school if she thinks they’re keeping me past five.”

Against all the odds, Fili was managing to keep her visits a secret from Dis. Thorin still wasn’t quite sure why she wouldn’t come clean to her mother, but then he had never raised a teenager, so he decided to steer clear of asking. Dis had commented on the Queen posters that had sprung up on Thorin’s walls, accusing him of turning his room into a ‘Man-Cave’, but she appeared to believe that they were Radagast’s doing and hadn’t questioned it. The bronze statue of Ganesh, however, was a dead give-away. As Thorin strongly suspected the elephant-headed god wouldn’t be able to remove the obstacles created if Dis found out he had been lying to her face about her daughter’s whereabouts, he always hid the statue in his bedside drawer when she visited.

Fili slipped her feet into her trainers and then crouched down to roll up the yoga mat. Thorin exchanged a glance with Bilbo and then staggered, more than a little ungracefully, to his feet. Bilbo followed suit and, now they were standing opposite each other, Thorin couldn’t help but notice that he was rather short. He was only an inch or so taller than Fili.

“Maybe we should roll up this mat too?” Bilbo suggested, with a slightly awkward smile.

The silence in the room suddenly became deafening, and Thorin realised that he had been gawping at Bilbo like a simpleton for a lot longer than was acceptable in polite company. He could see Fili’s smirk in the periphery of his vision.

“Er, yes…” Thorin said, coughing as he stepped off the mat. With some difficulty, due to uncooperative, trembling fingers, he managed to roll it into a loose cylinder.

“I’ll see you on Thursday, Uncle,” Fili said, hooking her mat under her arm. The sly look on her face clearly said: _we’re going to have a lot to talk about_.

“Good luck in your mock exam,” Thorin replied, trying to ignore her obvious delight in the situation. He held out his hand and they shook. The gesture had become a kind of in-joke.

“Thanks, good job I had an ‘extra revision session’ today, eh?” Fili grinned, before turning to Bilbo. “Great to meet you, Bilbo.” She offered her hand.

“And you, Fili.” They shook. “I hope you enjoy the Open Day.”

They both turned to Radagast, but it seemed only one of them was leaving the room with him. “Oh, Bilbo, Dr. Grey has bobbed in to see Ori, so he’s not quite ready for you yet. Why don’t you stay here, and I can come and collect you?”

Bilbo’s eyes flitted to Thorin. “I don’t – ”

“Come on, Fili, let’s put these mats back in the dayroom… Leave your uncle to chat.”

The yoga mat was unceremoniously snatched from Thorin’s hands and then Radagast began to steer Fili towards the door. She turned and gave him a parting grin before she was all but shoved into the corridor. Radagast was truly enthusiastic about forcing Thorin into situations that he believed would improve his social skills.

Now Thorin and Bilbo were left alone in the room, standing barely two feet apart, and Thorin felt his heart give a couple of unnerving jolts. _One… Two… Three…_

Unsurprisingly, it was Bilbo who spoke first: “Radagast can be a bit of a bully. I really don’t mind leaving, if you want to –”

“No!”

The syllable was short and sharp and came out of Thorin like a bullet. Bilbo stopped, looking a little taken back. Thorin wasn’t kicking himself, he was beating himself to a bloody pulp with a plank of wood that had a nail through one end.

“What… What I mean is, you don’t have to leave,” Thorin explained, focusing all his energy on forming a complete sentence. He tried to remind himself that he and Bilbo had spoken before today and managed just fine, but it still felt like he was walking a tight-rope. “Unless, er, unless you’d rather not stay…” Because I’ve just shouted at you like a complete twat.

Thorin fully expected Bilbo to take this opportunity to bolt out of the room and never speak to him again, but then Bilbo smiled.

“Shall I help you put these chairs back, then?” He gestured to the two chairs that were stacked next to the low coffee table in the corner of the room.

“Oh,” Thorin managed. “Yes.” And then, going for the hat-trick of one-word utterances, added: “Alright.”

They moved to the corner and both grabbed a chair, dragging them back to the window. Each taking a side of the table, they returned it to its place between the chairs. The whole rearranging was done in silence, whether it was an easy one or a tense one, Thorin couldn’t begin to fathom. They both took a second to admire their work, and then Bilbo dropped down into the chair closest to him. Thorin carefully lowered himself into the seat opposite.

“So,” Bilbo began, his hands returning to the pockets of his hoodie. “You decided to stick around then?”

Thorin knew he was alluding to their first meeting. “Yes,” he replied slowly. “Thank you… For that night, for talking me round.”

“Don’t mention it,” Bilbo said, then gave a small sigh. “The first few nights here are always the worst… I tried to make a break for it too, you know. All those years as a strategist, you’d have thought I could’ve managed a simple escape plan.”

The troublesome feelings of curiosity returned, prompting Thorin to ask: “What happened?”

“I got caught by the junior doctors who were chain-smoking by the fire exit,” Bilbo answered ruefully. “At least they let me have a cig with them before they brought me back.”

Thorin wondered if there was more to the story, but Bilbo had gone quiet and was studying something outside the window. When the light hit his eyes, it added flecks of brown to the green and grey… What colour were they even supposed to be? Thorin narrowed his own eyes at Bilbo. He wasn’t what people would call attractive in the conventional sense of the word; no one would look twice in the street… But then why couldn’t he stop looking at him? He told himself it was Bilbo’s near-constant smile. He seemed altogether too normal to be sitting opposite Thorin in slippers and pyjama bottoms…

Suddenly Bilbo’s attentions were focused on him again. Thorin realised he was very probably waiting for him to say something, as this was quite common conversation etiquette. Fili usually started fiddling with part of her outfit, pretending not to notice if Thorin took a while to reply. Dis happily filled the silences, wittering on about the affairs of her work colleagues and the joys of single-parenting… But Bilbo was simply staring at him, waiting, so Thorin thought he better say something interesting.

“You’re not from Yorkshire.” It was meant to be a question, but it came out sounding much more like an accusation and Thorin grimaced. He was unintentionally playing the part of the gruff northerner, suspicious of any southerner who dared venture too far from the Capital.

However, Bilbo once again surprised Thorin by not running for the hills. “No,” he agreed. “I’m from a little village in West Sussex.”

Thorin nodded, unsure of how to respond, and so the “Oh” that came out of his mouth would have to suffice. He wanted to ask Bilbo how he had ended up in West Yorkshire, about three-hundred miles away from West Sussex, but that was quite a personal question… And as he wasn’t particularly eloquent at the best of times, he decided it was best not to risk it.

“Facilities like this in the Home Counties are usually over-subscribed, so I told them to send me wherever there was space,” Bilbo explained, discerning Thorin’s question from his hesitant facial expression. “I didn’t want to take a bed from some poor boy who actually has family at home, so I ended up here.”

“You don’t have family?” Thorin asked, and immediately regretted it.

There was a strange look in Bilbo’s eyes that Thorin couldn’t place, but still he answered: “No… My parents passed away when I was twelve, and I was in foster care until I went to Birmingham.”

A barbed wire coil was stirring in the pit of Thorin’s stomach… He thought of his own parents, of his once bright-eyed father losing the battle with Alzheimer’s before his hair had gone fully grey, of his mother wasting away from grief… And then his brother, Frerin, came to him, speaking of the one bullet that had found its mark… Their faces flashed before his eyes, but then his psyche quickly ground the images to dust and cast them into the winds to gather again in a distant corner of his mind. He was getting very good at doing that.

“I’m sorry,” Thorin murmured, and he meant it.

“Thank you,” Bilbo replied quietly. “But it was years ago now… A few distant cousins got in touch whilst I was still studying, but they emigrated to New Zealand about five years ago. We have Skype calls from time to time… I guess it helps that I’m somewhat nocturnal at the moment.”

Most of the people Thorin had encountered since the bullet spoke in code, through euphemism and understatements, and Thorin was getting very good at deciphering their meanings. Looking at Bilbo now, with the dark circles dimming the colour of his eyes, Thorin knew he was trying to put a positive spin on the fact that, for whatever reason, he wasn’t sleeping… And that he had no one left to visit him. Thorin and his family had lost a lot over the past twenty years, but when he was invalided back to the UK, he still had Dis waiting for him. For all Dis’ overbearing nature and terrifying telepathic powers drove him up the wall, he found he couldn’t imagine being completely and utterly alone…

Bilbo shifted in his chair, and Thorin realised he could probably sense the feelings of pity emanating from him. He was trying desperately to think of a less morbid topic of conversation when Radagast once again chose to manifest himself in the doorway. Thorin hoped the relief didn’t show on his face… sometimes the nurse had his uses.

“Dr. Grey is ready for you now, Bilbo,” Radagast said, looking from Bilbo to Thorin with unnerving tenderness.

He was holding what appeared to be a dark red, leather-bound journal. From the way Bilbo eyed it with a flicker of distaste, Thorin guessed it was his and somehow needed for the impending session with Dr. Grey. But the look was only fleeting, and then the warm smile returned as Bilbo got to his feet.

“Do let me know if you want to borrow _Othello_ ,” he said softly, moving to join Radagast by the door.

“I will,” Thorin replied, feeling he should say something more.

It came as no great shock that he didn’t manage it before Radagast was ushering Bilbo past him, out into the corridor. Thorin watched them leave and studiously ignored the very unsubtle grin Radagast gave him behind Bilbo’s back.

He was suddenly assaulted by a feeling of déjà vu as he turned to look at the copper-coloured statue of Ganesh on the window sill that had witnessed everything. Thorin glared at the elephant-headed god as he sat smugly on his flower, in what he now knew to be Lotus Pose. Everything had been relatively boring until Ganesh had turned up in all his metaphorical glory, and Thorin couldn’t help but feel that the statue was somehow responsible for the fact that Fili’s visits were never dull… though this visit had been particularly interesting.

Thorin let out a groan as he leaned forward, running his hands through his hair, his fingers lightly tracing the line of his scar. The coil of barbed wire in his stomach had unwound itself and was replaced by something else entirely… Whatever it was, Thorin suspected Bilbo would soon be added to the vast array of obstacles that stood between him and his sanity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to say an enormous thank you to everyone who commented on the last chapter, and for the kudos and bookmarks. I was honestly so nervous about posting this fic and was ready to write it off as a failed experiment, so your positive feedback really does mean the world to me! Also, a special thank you to silverneko9lives0 for the pointers with this chapter.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the lack of update last week, guys, but I can tell you that nothing beats writing Bagginshield on a hotel balcony with a sea view!
> 
> Now, just a word of warning: Thorin suffers a panic attack followed by a black-out in this chapter. If this is potentially triggering for anyone, the scene takes place from after the first section break (“Thorin’s eyes flew open”) to “butcher ----”.

Thorin heard Dis before he saw her. The light click of her high heels sounded in the corridor, followed by her usual chirpy greeting at the nurses’ station. Thorin glanced up at the clock above his door: she was early. And she was about to catch her overly cynical and emotionally challenged big brother reading Shakespeare.

Tearing his eyes away from the sprawling, black-inked notes in the margins, Thorin promptly closed the 1967 Arden second edition of _Othello_. He had only just deposited it on his bedside table when Dis was shown into the room. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed and getting to his feet, Thorin tried to block the offending book from view… though he wasn’t really sure why he was so bothered about his sister discovering it. He didn’t have time to think any further on this before Dis was entering his personal space and pulling him into a hug.

“Hello, love,” she murmured, rising onto her toes despite the heels, so that she could press a kiss to his cheek.

As of a few days ago, Dis seemed to have decided it was a good idea to hug him on arrival as well as before her departure. Thorin stood there rigidly, simply accepting that the embrace was a thing that was happening, and didn’t try to defend himself. Dr. Grey would probably call this ‘progress’.

Drawing away, Dis smiled up at him. “Shall we sit down?”

They moved to the chairs by the window and Thorin allowed Dis to give him a rather probing once-over, as she always did as part of her visiting ritual. He avoided her piercing blue gaze as it travelled over him like some sort of human scanner.

“So, you’re keeping the beard, then?” Dis asked, not even attempting to hide her smirk.

Thorin reached up to self-consciously scratch the long black stubble at his chin. At the hospital in Kabul – for reasons born from the fraction of a centimetre – he hadn’t been allowed a razor to shave. The nurses had offered to do it for him, but as he didn’t want to be touched, the beard had slowly come into existence. His ‘risk’, as Dr. Grey called it, had been downgraded when he returned to the UK, and shaving had become an option again under the careful eye of Radagast, but Thorin had decided against it. He was strangely attached to his new facial hair.

“I like my beard,” he said, meeting Dis’ eye with quiet defiance.

“Well, I suppose it does fit in with the aging rocker aesthetic you’ve got going on here,” she replied, giving the Bohemian Rhapsody poster to her left a pointed glance.

In the past week, Dis had brought her wryness and wit back out of retirement. Although Thorin had been disturbed by his sister’s lost sense of humour and desire to mother him when he first arrived, he wasn’t sure this was much better… though perhaps it was the lesser of two evils.

“You’re early,” he stated, trying to steer the conversation away from his grooming habits. He also did his best to return his sister’s scrutiny, noting the blouse and pencil skirt which meant she must have come straight from work. Her dark hair, which usually fell around her shoulders, was also pulled back into a messy bun.

“Yes,” Dis answered, giving Thorin a rueful look, knowing full well her brother wasn’t praising her for her promptness. “I had to orchestrate a Year 11 drugs bust this afternoon, which turned out to be very time-consuming and fairly pointless, so my second offered to cover for me in the faculty meeting as compensation.”

Dis was the Head of the Humanities department at one of the local comprehensives. She also had an array of other job titles which Thorin either couldn’t remember or couldn’t comprehend. Suffice to say, she was a big name at the school and he suspected she was already moving her potted plants into the headmistress’s office.

“I tell you, 1105 shit themselves when I walked into their Geography lesson,” Dis continued, sounding far too happy about this fact. “But all I found were two packets of cigarettes, three lighters, and a plastic bag full of hay fever tablets.”

Thorin managed a smile, though he sympathised with 1105 and their torment in being unexpectedly confronted by Ms Oakenshield. A silence stretched out between them and Thorin waited; Dis no doubt had further stories and she always spoke when Thorin didn’t… but this time the silence remained. Her eyes were on him again, more critical than before. Thorin’s breath hitched in his throat and he felt a sinking in his stomach; she had lured him into a false sense of security. The look he gave his sister was pleading, but the attack came anyway.

“You’re still not sleeping.”

Thorin tensed, his heart giving a few hostile thuds. He had hoped that this would be the first visit where Dis didn’t pry, but it appeared he was going to be disappointed once again.

“I thought Dr. Grey had discussed changing you onto Zopiclone?” she asked, brow furrowed. “The beta blockers clearly aren’t doing enough.”

“Dis,” Thorin ground out, his breaths coming short and shallow, as his heart decided it was time to bring on the full-blown palpitations.

Dis narrowed her eyes at him. “You _are_ taking your medication, aren’t you?”

Thorin reacted on instinct. Before he knew it, he was on his feet, staggering away from the chair. He wished he hadn’t stood up so fast as the walls wobbled around him, but he closed his eyes, praying the feelings of nausea would pass… _One… One… One… Two…_

“Thorin,” Dis sighed, and it sounded like she was scolding a naughty child.

Thorin’s fingernails found his palms and pressed until pink half-moons were sure to appear. No, he still wasn’t sleeping, but yes, he was taking his medication. The nurses always checked. Opening his mouth and lifting his tongue for someone else to inspect was humiliating, and Thorin didn’t want to think about that. He gritted his teeth, sucking in shivering breaths that couldn’t possibly fill his lungs.

As his time in the hospital had established, communication was not something that came easy to Thorin, and when he was angry or frustrated, it became virtually impossible. In a traitorous act, his mind would go on lock-down and words of any kind vanished, as if language itself was just a myth. But Dr. Grey was beginning to coach him through this and Thorin tried to remember their session from a few days ago.

_“If a conversation is making you uncomfortable, try using simple, declarative sentences.”_

_“You mean like ‘Fuck off’?”_

_“That would be an imperative; ‘I would like you to fuck off’ is the declarative.”_

“Thorin,” Dis repeated, but her tone was gentler, her expression clouded with contrition. “Please will you sit down?”

Thorin stared at her for a few long moments, his fingernails slowly retreating from his palms. He spoke over the heartbeat thumping in his ears. “I don’t want to talk about my medication.”

“Alright,” Dis said evenly. “We’ll talk about something else.”

Thorin didn’t move; he remained at a wary distance, hovering in the No Man’s Land between the chair and his bed.

Dis’ expression had softened completely and her eyes were shining. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, and Thorin believed her.

He shuffled back to the chair and lowered himself down into it, avoiding her gaze, focusing only on regulating his breathing. Dis, mercifully, allowed him time to compose himself and the silence between them wasn’t as charged as before. After another minute, Thorin risked a glance in Dis’ direction and she greeted him with a small smile.

“So, Radagast tells me you’ve made a friend?”

Thorin’s heart stuttered. He looked away again, but it was too late, the blow had been struck.

“Apparently it’s the charming man in the room next door?” Dis persisted, her voice full of mock innocence.

“Please…” Thorin began thickly, his chest feeling uncomfortably tight. “Please tell me you haven’t already bothered him?”

Images of Dis inviting herself into Bilbo’s room flashed before Thorin’s eyes and the nausea returned. His thoughts then crept back to the copy of _Othello_ sitting on the bedside table behind him… and his mind helpfully supplied a perfect picture of the look on Bilbo’s face when Thorin had asked to borrow the book yesterday. His whole face had lit up and little crinkles had appeared around his eyes, which were greener than they had ever been before… Oh God, why was he even thinking about it?

“Not yet,” Dis answered, dragging Thorin’s mind back to the awful present, and her grin was positively sinister. “But I thought I’d pop my head in on my way out, say thank you to him for his valiant efforts at conversing with my grumpy big brother.”

Thorin grimaced and ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “If you do,” he said quietly, trying to keep his voice controlled as his breathing threatened to falter. “I’ll tell the nurses you’re not really my sister, you’re just some mad woman I once met who’s been stalking me for decades.”

Dis snorted. “You want them to put up my mug-shot at the nurses’ station with a no admittance sign?”

Thorin couldn’t help but grin at the thought, but then he noticed the look in Dis’ eyes and he realised she was by no means done with the topic of Bilbo.

“Come on then, tell me all about him,” she said, obviously enjoying herself.

For some reason, this made Thorin bristle. Maybe it was because he was now confronted with the fact that he didn’t actually know an awful lot about Bilbo, or maybe it was the unfamiliar feeling of something close to possessiveness that made Thorin not want to say another word… He knew it was childish and unreasonable, but he found himself rather unwilling to share.

When Thorin wasn’t forthcoming with information, Dis pushed. “Do you at least know if he’s single?” It was a push too far.

“I don’t see how that’s relevant and his personal life is none of your business,” Thorin replied, with a definite growl.

Dis quirked an eyebrow, the amusement clear in her expression, but still she raised her hands in a placating gesture. “Okay, okay, I was only asking.”

Thorin inhaled deeply and rubbed a hand over his mouth. He wasn’t sure what had caused him to snap like that, but he never had been any good at reading his own emotions.

“But I didn’t expect such backbone from you, Thorin,” Dis continued. “You really have been spending too much time with Fili.”

Thorin froze. His eyes widened as he stared at Dis, who remained infuriatingly nonchalant. “You know?” he asked, his mouth dry.

“Yes.”

“Fili told you?”

“Of course she didn’t,” Dis replied, with a _tsk_. “But honestly, you two, thinking you’re being so wonderfully discreet about it all… I’m telling you now, neither of you should be considering careers with MI5.”

This conversation was giving Thorin whiplash. He sat back in the chair, certain he could feel phantom bruises blossoming across his limbs from where Dis had verbally kicked him around the room. She’d no doubt planned this big reveal; letting Thorin know that he was an idiot and she was well aware of her daughter’s visits. Dis was now looking very pleased with herself, and so Thorin decided to give in and just let her have her moment.

“Go on then, what gave it away?” he asked, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Well, Fili was hardly casual when she asked me which days I would be visiting; her questions were so persistent and specific, it was clear she was drawing up some kind of rota,” Dis said, the smirk making a reappearance. “And it also wasn’t lost on me that all her extra-curriculars coincided with hospital visiting hours.”

Thorin exhaled slowly. He’d been so careful trying to salt Fili’s footsteps at his end that he hadn’t thought to warn his niece about her mother’s powers of deduction.

“And you’ve been no better,” Dis added, before Thorin could say anything. “You always look so pleased with yourself for remembering to ask about Fili, despite the fact you already know everything I tell you… Your expressions of surprise need some work too if you’re going to go for that BAFTA.”

Ah, so not careful enough then. “Have you told her that you know?” he asked, barely suppressing a groan.

“No, I thought I might save this little piece of information so I can checkmate our next argument.”

Thorin frowned. “You tell her, or I will.”

Dis eyebrow was raised again, though she looked vaguely impressed by this challenge. “I was joking, but alright, I’ll tell her this evening.”

Thorin nodded, satisfied with the answer. He wouldn’t admit it to Dis, but he was quite relieved he wouldn’t be the one to break it to Fili. He knew she wasn’t going to take it well… Suddenly a black thought crossed his mind, and an equally black feeling dropped like a rock in his stomach.

“Are you going to stop her visiting?” Thorin asked quietly, trying to keep his expression neutral despite the encroaching panic.

Dis rolled her eyes. “You really don’t know anything about teenagers, do you?”

Thorin returned a blank look, unsure of whether this was leading to a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ answer.

“No, I’m not going to stop her,” Dis sighed. “But even if I tried, I guarantee she would turn up here anyway – probably more frequently. If I tell Fili not to do something, she will do it, and with added vigour… Like that damn tattoo.”

This last comment threw Thorin for a moment. “I… never noticed a tattoo?”

“That’s because it’s not in a place appropriate to show one’s uncle,” Dis replied dryly. “Anyway… I think you’re good for each other.”

Thorin tensed. He knew Fili was good for him, but he certainly wasn’t sure about the other way round… Pursuing this topic had ‘disaster’ written all over it, and so he didn’t comment. Silence was probably the best option. His gaze moved to the window again as he slowly tried to gather together the scattered remains of his sanity. Dis’ visits were always exhausting, but now he felt particularly drained and there was a tell-tale, dull ache throbbing over his left eye.

“I told Fili a lot about our teenage years, you know,” Dis said, and when Thorin turned to her she was studying the Wembley ’86 poster on the opposite wall. She had obviously figured out its origin wasn’t Radagast.

“Do you remember how distraught you were when Freddie Mercury died?” she asked softly; the light behind her blue eyes was strangely sad.

“Yes,” Thorin answered, his voice matching her subdued tone. “I wouldn’t come out of my room... But you talked me round.”

He was fifteen when Freddie Mercury lost his battle with AIDS in the November of 1991. On that dark and dismal autumn day, Thorin had come home from school and simply lay prostrate on his bed, refusing to move or talk to anyone. ‘These Are the Days of Our Lives’ had been playing on the radio, and only then had Thorin realised that Freddie knew he was going to die when he wrote it. The loss of his idol had left Thorin feeling hopeless and oddly alone… Looking back, that probably had a lot to do with the fact that he and Freddie had a couple of things in common; things he was still trying to figure out at the time. It had hurt somewhere he couldn’t place and Thorin was convinced there would be no other end of the world.

But then Dis had come to him. At thirteen years old, she had climbed onto the bed with a small and flowery packet of tissues. He’d lain there quietly and let her dry his eyes before she settled down next to him. He could still remember the way she had taken his hand and started to sing along to the next song on the radio, ‘The Show Must Go On’. She sang until Thorin joined in, his voice low and cracking slightly, but still loud enough to be heard. After the song finished, Dis had pulled him up off the bed and kept a firm hold of his hand as she guided him downstairs for dinner.

“All I needed was a Queen song and a bit of hand-holding to make everything okay again,” Dis murmured.

Thorin wished he hadn’t noticed the shine in Dis’ eyes, but it was there, and he couldn’t do anything about it. Her expression and the telling twist of her lips said: _I wish that would work now, I wish I could make this okay._

Thorin held her gaze, hoping she knew it meant: _I know, I’m sorry._

 

…

 

Thorin’s eyes flew open, but the screaming continued. Sitting bolt upright in bed with his chest heaving, the walls of the darkened room swirled around him, twisting like the blankets that had become wrapped around his legs.  Someone was shouting… Thorin swallowed, his tongue heavy in his mouth: it wasn’t him. His gaze moved manically about the empty room, his heart threatening to burst right out of his ribcage… Was he still dreaming?

The terrible cries cut through the darkness, high and shrill and harrowing, and as Thorin’s senses untangled themselves, he suddenly realised their source was coming from the left of his room… Bilbo.

Bilbo was screaming.

There was a thunder of footsteps as the night staff burst into Bilbo’s room, followed by a barrage of loud bangs that sounded like books being thrown to the floor… Thorin blinked and found he was half-way to his door, with no memory of getting out of bed. His heart was pounding so fast it was painful and he couldn’t breathe… He couldn’t breathe…

Bilbo was still crying, drowning out the nurses’ calmer, pacifying voices. Whether he was trapped in a nightmare, a flashback, or something even more sinister, Thorin couldn’t say… All he knew was Bilbo was suffering – and he understood, oh God, did he understand – and that thought made his insides feel as if they were about to implode.

Thorin tried to move towards the door, but it was like walking underwater, and his legs were slowly turning to stone… He just needed to breathe… But he couldn’t count… The numbers wouldn’t come as his mind stubbornly drew a blank… He couldn’t even manage ‘one’, because all he could hear inside his own head was Bilbo’s hysterical sobbing… that was starting to sound like his own voice, mingling with Bilbo’s desperate cries… Was he shouting out loud, or was it still only in his head…? _Fall back! FALL BACK!_

Frantically scanning the dimly lit room for help, for something concrete to anchor his mind, Thorin’s wide blue gaze fell on the statue of Ganesh on the window sill. The god was bronze and black in the darkness, the side closest to the bedside lamp flickering like a candle flame. Thorin glared at the stoic icon, who remained unmoved by the trials occurring at that very moment.

Another loud bang echoed around the room like a thunder clap as more books fell and Bilbo was calling out for help. Thorin forced himself forward and rounded on the statue. His heartbeat was a rapid rattle of gunfire, sounding too close, too close… and he threw his arm out, pointing towards Bilbo’s room.

“You hear that?! Sort that out, you ugly fucker!”

There was no answer.

Thorin wanted to smash the statue… With morbid fascination, he considered what sounds it would make if he threw it to the floor… And what amount of force it would take to snap its hideous elephant head from its body and watch it spin across the floor like a top… He could stamp on the petals of the flower, grinding them to glittering dust beneath his feet…

He was feeling dizzy now. His head was heavy as if it too were carved from bronze, though one side was burning where the bullet had trailed his skull. There was nothing but wind roaring in his ears, yet he still advanced on the statue… The statue that he was going to destroy… mutilate… butcher ----

 

 

_Thorin…? Thorin, can you hear me…?_

Thorin slowly opened his eyes and was met with an expanse of featureless grey. There was something cool and hard pressing against his forehead… and his hands and knees. As his eyes adjusted, Thorin realised he was staring at the linoleum floor of his room, where he was curled in on himself like a frightened animal.

“Thorin?”

The voice was gentle, encouraging. Thorin carefully turned his head, flinching at the throb in his temples as he did so. Radagast was crouched at his side, and he met his gaze with a small smile. Squinting against the unexpected brightness of the room, Thorin pushed himself up with his hands and attempted to stagger to his feet.

“Ah, let’s just sit down for a moment, shall we?” Radagast said carefully, guiding Thorin back down onto the floor, hovering his hand over his arm.

Thorin didn’t protest. His whole body felt unbearably heavy and there were pains needling over his eyes and down his arms and legs. His gaze moved slowly around the room, trying to figure out what was different. The main light had been turned on, making everything an almost blinding white, but that wasn’t it…

It was quiet. This revelation cut into Thorin’s chest as he registered the eerie silence that hung in the room. No one was screaming. He felt his heart drop into his stomach as the memories of what felt like only seconds before flooded his mind.

“Thorin?” Radagast said, his voice low and calm. He waited until Thorin turned to him to continue. “Can you tell me where you are?”

Thorin winced as his temples throbbed again, but still he answered: “The Ered Luin Royal Infirmary.” He cursed the hospital for having such a long name and taking so much breath to say, before adding “in my room” for good measure.

Radagast smiled. “Good… And do you know who I am?”

A few sarcastic responses came to mind, but Thorin decided to play along with the routine questioning. “Radagast Brown, you’re a nurse.”

“I am indeed,” Radagast said, his dark eyes slowly moving over Thorin’s face. “You lost consciousness for a few minutes… Do you remember what you were doing before that happened?”

Thorin’s eyes slid over to the window. The statue of Ganesh was waiting for him, as whole as it ever had been: mockingly whole, unlike the broken mortal in its wake. Thorin had wanted to destroy the god, threatened to snap its neck and grind it to dust, but the god had struck him down… And he’d woken, on his hands and knees on the floor, as if he were praying.

Radagast was studying him with a sympathetic smile. Thorin swallowed and tried to wet his dry lips. “Bilbo?” he whispered, his heart slowly climbing up into his throat.

“He’s having a bit of a rough night,” Radagast sighed, his smile faltering. “We’ve calmed him down now.”

Thorin’s stomach twisted. “You mean you’ve sedated him.”

The nurse didn’t respond, but the answer was in his sorry expression. They sat there on the floor for a long time, Thorin staring into his lap, listening to his heartbeat slow to a steady thump. He inhaled and exhaled with practiced care, as if he’d only just learned to breathe a few weeks ago… Well, in some ways, he supposed he had.

Finally, Radagast shifted. “Let’s get you back to bed, hmm?”

Thorin gave a stiff nod. He gingerly got to his feet, every part of him aching as he straightened up, and dragged himself over to the bed. Radagast cautiously shadowed his movements, and Thorin didn’t object. He let the nurse check his pulse and didn’t say a word when the dark blue cuff was wrapped around his upper arm to take his blood pressure. And he stayed silent when Radagast offered him a sedative or a mug of milky hot chocolate, clearly believing far more in the curative powers of the latter.

Eventually, Thorin was left alone. He lay there in the bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking of Bilbo in the next room. It occurred to him then that the single wall between them served as a mirror line. He and Bilbo were not as different as he had first thought… and this fact caused an ache somewhere deep in his chest. He wouldn’t wish his demons on anyone, let alone Bilbo, who seemed far less deserving of them than he was.

As expected, sleep never came. In the grey dawn light, Thorin reached for the copy of _Othello_ on his bedside table. His eyes moved over the notes covering the margins, almost as prolific as the text itself. Bilbo’s handwriting was as small as he’d first imagined, but far neater – not the illegible scratch of the lecturer. His commentary on the play was both perceptive and full of wry wit. Thorin had found himself snorting out loud more than once at the observations the twenty-something-year-old Bilbo had made. Perhaps it wasn’t really _Othello_ he was interested in reading.

However, a few lines of the text did stand out starkly on the page as he waded through the chaos of Act Three. And he thought of them as the sun staggered into the sky and the hospital began to stir:

 _Look, where he comes. Not poppy nor mandragora_  
_Nor all the drowsy syrups of the world,_  
_Shall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep_  
_Which thou owedst yesterday._

 

…

 

Thorin handed the small plastic pot back to Radagast and opened his mouth for the perfunctory check. The nurse gave an approving nod when it was clear that Thorin had dry-swallowed the three different coloured pills that made up his morning medication. He furrowed his brow when Radagast didn’t move from his bedside. As his mornings usually lasted from about 4am right through to midday, it was easy to say that Thorin wasn’t a morning person. Mornings were long and difficult. The staff usually respected this by not lingering in his room or talking more than was necessary until the afternoon arrived. The warning glare Thorin gave Radagast informed him that he had approximately three seconds to start running or he might just start a riot.

However, as always, Radagast ignored Thorin’s homicidal expression. “Dr. Grey was wondering if you would like to visit Bilbo this morning?”

Thorin went rigid as he felt the breath knocked from his lungs. Bilbo’s awful cries from last night echoed in a corner of his mind that was far too close to be comfortable.

“He’s feeling a bit sore and sorry for himself, and we think you might be able to cheer him up,” Radagast pressed, when Thorin didn’t answer.

Thorin returned a blank stare. He was in no way qualified to cheer anyone up. From his experience, he only made people angry or more upset.

“Has he asked to see me?” Thorin murmured, unsure as to why he felt the need to ask this question.

“No,” Radagast conceded. “But I know he would like to.”

Thorin opened his mouth to challenge Radagast’s supposed telepathy, but then promptly closed it. The nurse had a certain glint in his eye which suggested he and Dr. Grey had been plotting. Thorin knew that if they wanted something to happen, it damn well would, and there was no point arguing.

“Alright,” he said, defeated.

Radagast grinned. “Come on then.”

Thorin climbed out of bed, his movements a little hesitant and sluggish as he stepped into his slippers. He then followed Radagast out of the room, but paused before they came to Bilbo’s door… Why had he stopped? Perhaps he was afraid. Perhaps he didn’t want to see Bilbo as he truly was: as damaged and despondent as any other patient here. He tried to focus on controlling his breathing that was becoming erratic again, as it always did in situations involving Bilbo. _One… Two… Three… One… Two… Three… Four…_ Thorin decided he really hated the elusive number five.

“We have a visitor.”

Thorin’s head snapped to the side at Radagast’s announcement and suddenly he was being ushered into Bilbo’s room.

“Ah, good morning, Thorin.” Dr. Grey was standing by Bilbo’s bed and the smile was in his light blue eyes, not on his lips, as he greeted Thorin.

Thorin’s eyes travelled from the doctor to Bilbo… and Bilbo smiled at him. Lying in the bed, with all his blankets pulled up to his chin, and his face looking paler than the pillows beneath his head, he smiled. This was not what Thorin was expecting and his heart jolted painfully… Surely Bilbo shouldn’t be smiling at him like that.

“Now, don’t stand in the doorway, come in and sit down,” Dr. Grey said kindly, gesturing to the chair which Thorin strongly suspected had been strategically placed at Bilbo’s bedside.

Bilbo’s eyes, looking more grey than green this morning, followed him as he crossed the room and took a seat by the bed, his movements wary and rather timid.

“I’ll pop back in a little while, Bilbo,” Dr. Grey said, putting a hand on Bilbo’s shoulder that was hidden beneath his blankets.

Bilbo offered a meek smile in return. The doctor flashed Thorin a knowing look, an unnerving twinkle in his eyes, and then disappeared from the room.

Thorin shifted in his seat, feeling distinctly uncomfortable. He really had no idea what Dr. Grey was playing at… He and Bilbo had only ever had four conversations – not that Thorin was counting – and he was sure he was the last person Bilbo really needed to speak with at this point in time. Avoiding Bilbo’s gaze, therefore, seemed like the best way forward, and Thorin’s eyes scanned the room. There were no books out of place: no signs that what had passed in the night had been anything but a dream. The shelves – and there were many more than in Thorin’s room – were bursting with a colourful spectrum of works, both old and new, leather-bound and not bound at all and everything in between. There were also piles of books forming towers around the shelves, as if fortifying them. It was a bizarre cross between a hospital room and a second-hand book shop.

“I’m sorry if I disturbed you last night.”

Thorin’s eyes snapped back to Bilbo, who was studying him intently.

“You didn’t,” he said quickly, but he knew the lie was written all over his face.

They sat in silence for a few long moments and Thorin became increasingly agitated, his hands twisting in his lap. He shouldn’t be here… Why was he here? How was his presence helping anything?

“Does it bother you?” Bilbo asked quietly, breaking the silence, his eyes fixed on Thorin. “Discovering that I’m not as sane as you supposed?”

Thorin stared at Bilbo, the question wasn’t one he had anticipated and now his stomach was feverishly knotting and unknotting itself. “You’re… You’re not insane,” he said, stumbling over the words like he was stumbling through this situation and his life in general.

Bilbo made a non-committal noise and turned to look at the ceiling. Thorin wanted to run. He was accustomed to feeling useless, but this was different... He was sure he was making everything ten times worse by sitting there awkwardly, clearly not saying the right things... not saying anything at all, in fact. Bilbo continued to stare blindly above him, his expression troubled, distant. Thorin needed to leave… He needed to leave before he upset Bilbo further.

“I should…” Thorin muttered, not looking at the bed as he shakily got to his feet.

“Stay.”

Thorin stopped and turned back to Bilbo.

“Please, will you stay?” he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.

Cautiously returning to his chair, Thorin fought the surprised frown that was forcing down his brow as his heart pummelled a hole through his chest.

“I’m sorry,” Bilbo said, and he was smiling again.

It made Thorin’s heart both leap and plummet at the same time. It was a paradox he didn’t think should be allowed.

“I’m being grumpy, I know,” Bilbo continued. “Mornings are difficult sometimes.”

“They are for me too,” Thorin admitted softly. He thought Bilbo had every right to be grumpy this morning… and if this was what he called being grumpy, Thorin daren’t think what Bilbo would say about his behaviour in a morning.

The silence that came was somehow easier than the last, but Thorin was still struggling. He didn’t like being in situations where he was expected to be the talkative one. Searching desperately for something to say, Thorin found himself playing therapist. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked tentatively, and immediately hated himself.

He was relieved when Bilbo seemed more amused than anything. “Not particularly,” he replied. Thorin thought the silence was about to descend again, but then Bilbo added: “What I want… is to sleep, just sleep.”

The look in Bilbo’s tired eyes wasn’t lost on Thorin, and he knew what he meant: he wanted to sleep, but he was afraid of falling asleep and all the risks that came with it. Thorin’s heart was thrumming in his ribs as he looked at Bilbo. He hoped his rather desperate expression was saying what he couldn’t voice: _Please, please, just tell me what I can do…_

Bilbo suddenly looked bashful. “Would you… Would you read to me?”

“Oh,” Thorin murmured. Not that he had any ideas anyway, but this hadn’t been one of them. Realising he was in a room crammed to the corners with books, Thorin decided to call himself an idiot and move on. “Y-yes… Erm, which do you…?” And he was being as eloquent as ever.

“On the bedside table,” Bilbo replied gently.

Thorin turned to the stack of books at his side and retrieved the top paperback. Black silhouettes of soldiers marched across its cover. _Regeneration_ – the title was in thick black capitals – by Pat Barker.

“Ah, maybe not that one,” Bilbo said, a little guardedly. “ _Brideshead Revisited_ should be underneath.”

“Er… right.” Thorin didn’t question Bilbo’s decision, and rather hastily swapped the books over, picking up a thinner hardback and returning _Regeneration_ to the pile.

A brown leather bookmark jutted from a page towards the end of the book. Thorin opened it at the bookmark and looked to Bilbo, as if for confirmation.

“Page 284,” Bilbo prompted, and Thorin wondered how he could possibly remember.

His eyes moved to the top of the page as he slipped the bookmark into his lap. He stared at the stark words of the first sentence, feeling Bilbo’s eyes on him. The last time he’d read to someone had been four years ago, when Kili had refused to sleep until he had a bedtime story. This situation was rather different, to say the least. Thorin wasn’t very good at talking, and the prospect of reading aloud made the panic rise high up in his chest… But maybe it would be easier with the words already in front of him.

Inhaling deeply, and reaching five, Thorin began, his voice slow and deep: “Perhaps all our loves are merely hints and symbols… a hill of many invisible crests… doors that open as in a dream to reveal only a further stretch of carpet and another door.”

He stopped to breathe, his eyes flicking to Bilbo. He was met with a warm, encouraging smile, so he continued, keeping his voice quiet and low.

“Perhaps you and I are types… and this sadness which sometimes falls between us springs from disappointment in our search… each straining through and beyond the other, snatching a glimpse now and then of the shadow… which turns the corner always a pace or two ahead of us.” 

Thorin knew Bilbo was watching him as he read, but he kept his own eyes on the page. He continued to read, not really understanding what he was saying aloud, and only concentrating on keeping his voice steady until it became rhythmic… hypnotic, almost, even to himself. Time seemed to slow down as he turned the pages, his heart knocking like a metronome, and he was so caught up in the reading that he was surprised when he reached the end of the chapter.

Looking up, preparing to ask for Bilbo’s permission to continue, he found the younger man was asleep. Bilbo’s lids were flickering a little, but it was not the manic twitch of nightmares and a little colour seemed to have returned to his face, which looked relaxed… almost content in sleep. He breathed softly, his chest making the blankets rise and fall in a rhythm Thorin suddenly realised he was mimicking.

He placed the leather bookmark at the appropriate page and closed the book, holding it in his lap. He glanced towards the door, but didn’t move.

Bilbo had asked him to stay, and so Thorin stayed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note on the I’m-So-Sorry-I-Couldn’t-Help-Myself literary references:
> 
> 'Othello' by William Shakespeare features several soldiers in its cast of characters, including Michael Cassio, whom Iago denounces as a scholar with no real experience in combat. 
> 
> 'Regeneration' by Pat Barker is a novel which, amongst other things, explores the relationship between the First World War poets, Wilfred Owen and Siegfried Sassoon, whilst they are being treated for PTSD (then known as ‘shell shock’) at Craiglockhart War Hospital in Edinburgh. I couldn’t help but draw some parallels.
> 
> 'Brideshead Revisited' by Evelyn Waugh has inspired much debate regarding the book’s homoerotic subtexts, with queer theory critics discussing the nature of the protagonist, Charles Ryder’s feelings for his friend, Sebastian. The book is narrated by Charles as he enters a world already inhabited by Sebastian, just as Thorin has entered a space already inhabited by Bilbo.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter for you all! We’ll be meeting some new characters in this one, because it really is about time Thorin made a trip to the dayroom…

 

The minute hand slowly slid to the number ‘12’ on the clock above the door, and Thorin’s chest tightened. He had been sitting in his usual chair by the window for the past ten minutes, watching the time tick by, willing Fili to be early… He pushed his hands into his grey sweatpants’ pockets to try and stop himself fidgeting, but his fingers still twitched against his thighs as his gaze remained fixed on the minute hand that was now making its journey towards ‘1’.

Thorin hadn’t seen Dis or Fili for a couple of days; not since his sister had used her obnoxious sense of showmanship to reveal that she knew her daughter had been visiting. He wondered how Fili had taken the news and, more than that, he worried that any ensuing arguments might have caused enough damage to make her stay away. This was a thought he had carried around with him all morning and for most of the afternoon. It sat at the bottom of his stomach, pulling puppet strings of panic in his chest, making him restless and uneasy.

Fili’s voice sounded in the corridor as she was greeted by several nurses.

His shoulders slumping, Thorin let out the breath he had been holding in all day. He was an idiot… and, as always, Dis was right. He really didn’t know anything about teenagers. After several, agonisingly drawn-out moments, Fili was shown into the room. The quirk of her eyebrow was fleeting, but it was enough to let Thorin know she was surprised to find him already sitting down, waiting for her.

“Hi,” Fili said, her usual brightness not quite masking the wariness of her expression. She took a seat opposite, dropping her rucksack to the floor beside her.

Thorin managed a smile, but it did nothing to deter the cogs that were whirring behind Fili’s blue gaze.

“You thought I wasn’t coming?” she asked finally.

Shuffling his slippered feet, Thorin dared to meet his niece’s eye. “I wasn’t sure.”

Fili let out a groan as she hunched over her knees; the inaudible mutterings that followed seemed to be directed at both herself and her mother. “I’m really sorry,” she said, straightening up. “If I’d realised that you might… Well, I would’ve tried to get here sooner.”

“It’s okay,” Thorin replied, wanting to vanish Fili’s penitent expression.

“You know, Mum couldn’t even tell me like any other normal person would,” she said, her tone the embodiment of an eye-roll. “She couldn’t just say: “I know you’ve been visiting Uncle Thorin”. She had to wait until I told her I had fencing practice to be like – ” Fili’s posture stiffened and her voice lost its flat Yorkshire vowels. ““And is that before or after you see your uncle?””

Thorin wanted to congratulate her on the uncanny imitation of Dis – no doubt a lot of practice had gone into it – but his survival instincts were telling him not to mention it, lest his next visit from his sister be even more torturous than usual. But still the fact that Dis had sprung this revelation on them in almost exactly the same way made it easy to sympathise with Fili, and the fondness he held for her only grew.

“And how are you and your mum doing now?” he asked tentatively.

“We’re being civil with each other,” she replied, her lips a thin line. Thorin didn’t think Fili would appreciate him pointing out that she was still sounding like Dis. “Of course, she’s happy now that she’s proven she’s cleverer than I am.”

Thorin wasn’t really sure how he was supposed to reply to that. Dis had fought endlessly with their mother when she was a teenager, but he and Frerin had stayed well out of their battles. As Thorin’s bedroom had been in the attic of their childhood home, it was usually the point furthest away from the conflict. Frerin and, on occasion, Thrain too, had arrived at his door, seeking refuge. The three of them would then sit and listen to the shouting and slamming doors from a relatively safe distance, all completely baffled by the wrath of the two women in their family.

“Anyway, it’s fine, really,” Fili said, clearly trying to avoid dragging her own baggage into the conversation. After a few moments of silence, in which Thorin could feel the proverbial line being drawn under the topic, she reached for her rucksack. “So, I’ve got a present for you from Kili.”

Thorin’s heart gave a loud thump. Kili was yet to make a visit to the hospital, and it was then that he realised just how little he knew about his nephew.

Unzipping her bag, Fili produced a square Tupperware box with a note taped to the lid. “He caught me before the end of school,” she smiled, handing over the box. “It’s Mars Bar slice.”

Thorin inspected the contents through the clear plastic; he could see rectangles of chocolate-covered crispies. Smiling, his eyes moved to the piece of lined paper where Kili had left him a message in smudged black pen:

 

_Deer unkel thorin_

_I mad thees for you in food teck. I no wen Fili is sad she eats alot of ~~choclat~~ chocolat _

_and she says it helps so I hop they wil ~~hlep~~_ _help you feel beter._

_Lov Kili x_

Thorin furrowed his brow as he re-read Kili’s note, unable to get past the spelling mistakes and crossing out. There was a sudden sharpness in his stomach… He was sure Kili was twelve-years-old, but maybe he had got that wrong. Had his memories of his nephew from four years ago been somehow distorted? The panic spread out from his heart in icy shards and his fingers began to tremble… All the anxieties he’d been harbouring about the bullet causing more damage than his doctors were letting on had him by the throat, their grip like iron. 

“You didn’t…?” The realisation dawned on Fili’s face. “Kili’s dyslexic, and he has some difficulties with reading… But he’s been doing literacy intervention with his English teacher, Miss Silvan, and she says he’s really making progress.”

Oh. Thorin allowed himself to breathe. ( _One… Two… Three…_ ) Fili was studying him with evident concern, so he forced himself to speak. “I thought… I didn’t realise…” Speaking wasn’t going well, so he decided to take another few breaths instead, whilst also thanking whatever deity was listening for blessing his niece with eternal patience.

“You didn’t know, it’s alright,” Fili said gently, leaning forward in her chair, not quite managing to hide her perplexed expression.

Inhaling deeply, Thorin stared into his lap, clutching the Tupperware between his knees, trying to calm himself down. Today hadn’t exactly been the best day for his nerves, and he knew he was experiencing what Dr. Grey termed ‘a disproportionate reaction’. But he tried to talk himself through it, attempting logic: the source of his anxiety no longer existed. Kili was twelve-years-old and his memories were real. Now Thorin was thinking more clearly, he knew Dis had mentioned something about Kili’s dyslexia when he was first admitted. Unfortunately, that first week had been so tumultuous as he adjusted to his medication that it had simply gotten lost in the fog.

Slowly straightening up, Thorin found Fili sitting in her ‘I’ll just go and get someone’ position with her body turned slightly towards the door. Fili had never actually needed to leave the room during any of her visits, and Thorin wanted to make sure they didn’t break that streak.

“He’s making progress?” he asked, his voice a little hoarse. Fili had seemed so proud when she said this before, and he didn’t want Kili to become associated with the other triggers for his attacks.

Fili smiled, and Thorin didn’t begrudge her the relief in it. “Yeah, he’s getting much better at correcting his own spelling, and he reads with me every night.”

Thorin’s eyes travelled over Kili’s note again, aware that Fili was watching him read.

“He’s trying really hard to understand what’s happened,” she said quietly.

Something deep within Thorin’s chest began to ache. He wasn’t sure he understood what had happened, or what was happening, so how a twelve-year-old was expected to get their head around the situation was beyond him… But Kili was doing his best, just like his uncle was.

“The Mars Bar slice is actually quite edible,” Fili commented, when Thorin’s eyes didn’t move from the box. “I may have had a piece or two on the bus over here, you know, just to check if it was suitable for human consumption,” she added, with a sheepish grin. “The nurses have okay’d it too.”

Curiosity got the better of Thorin and he carefully pulled off the Tupperware lid. The Mars Bar slice looked more than edible: sizable chunks of caramel-covered rice crispies were smothered in a layer of thick milk chocolate. Thorin’s stomach made a low groan. One of the side-effects of his medication was an increase in appetite; this meant that although his mind told him he wasn’t hungry, his body had other ideas. He knew Dr. Grey was concerned about his weight loss in the Kabul hospital, so maybe this would be one way to get the doctor off his back in tomorrow’s session. Thorin selected a small slice and then offered the box to Fili.

“If anyone asks, this is only my second piece,” Fili said, taking her ‘second piece’ with a smirk, before placing the box on the table between them.

Thorin hadn’t taken any sort of active interest in food since he arrived, but he was becoming actively interested in this Mars Bar slice. It tasted good. He’d forgotten what good food tasted like. Swallowing a crispy mouthful, Thorin’s thoughts turned to the slice’s creator.

“I’d like to meet him… Kili,” he said softly.

Fili stopped trying to discreetly lick some melted chocolate from her thumb, and her whole face lit up. “He really wants to see you,” she replied. “He was desperate to come with me today, but… Well, he’s a bit, er, manic… and very loud, so…”

Fili didn’t finish the sentence, but Thorin knew what she was getting at: a hyperactive, noisy preteen wasn’t the best thing to introduce to a ward full of traumatised war veterans. His heart sank a little.

“But Dr. Grey and Mum have been talking,” Fili continued. “They’re used to having kids visit, so they can work something out… I guess we were just waiting for you to ask.”

Thorin returned Fili’s wide smile. Looking forward to things was difficult for him, especially when his mind was so determined to keep looking back, but still he thought of his nephew’s prospective visit… Surely that was something in the future he could focus on. Thorin finished the last bit of his slice and brushed a few crumbs off his sweatpants. Fili was looking pensive, but there was also a hint of guilt in her expression as she watched him.

He didn’t have time to question her before she spoke: “Mum and Dr. Grey didn’t just discuss Kili on the phone… I know I shouldn’t have been listening, but when I realised it was someone from Ered Luin on the line… I… I freaked a little bit…”

Fili was biting her lip, the words remaining unsaid, but the look in her blue eyes spoke volumes. She was afraid of _that_ phone call home. The one there was no coming back from. Thorin’s heart jolted in protest.

“They were talking about… about your attack and black-out early on Tuesday morning,” Fili murmured, clearly aware that she was entering dangerous territory.

And she was. Thorin knew he could do nothing to change the fact that his life at the hospital was far from private, but it didn’t mean he had to like it. Everything that happened: every blip, every attack, every adjustment of his meds was relayed back to Dis. She and Dr. Grey seemed insufferably pally with each other. He didn’t want Fili to become part of that. He liked that she never asked him the searching questions, never pushed him onto uncomfortable topics… but it seemed that had run its course. His fingers were curling in his pockets as he mentally prepared his set of ‘declarative sentences’, reminding himself that telling his niece he would like her to fuck off wasn’t an option.

“How’s Bilbo doing?”

Thorin froze, his eyes slowly meeting Fili’s. He realised then that he should give her more credit. As always, she knew not to ask if he was alright, how he was ‘coping’… She had found another way to go about it. This question was far less dangerous, but it still made Thorin’s heart-rate falter as Bilbo’s screams – screams he would never be able to forget, as long as he lived – sounded in his mind, accompanied by forked bursts of horrible light. Pulling his fingers away from the sweating skin of his palms, Thorin continued to stare at Fili. At seventeen, she wasn’t a child, but neither was she one of the many judgemental adults of the world. Something about Fili’s state of in-betweenness made her safe, and so Thorin found a way to answer her.

“He’s acting as if nothing happened,” he said, frustration putting an edge into his tone. “Like it’s just business as usual and everything’s fine… And he won’t talk about it.”

After reading to Bilbo until he fell asleep, Thorin had seen him again briefly on two separate occasions: once that evening when Bilbo had passed by his door, and then yesterday, when he had asked him about one of his footnotes in _Othello_ that had been obscured by a coffee stain. Both times, Bilbo had appeared to be back to his old self… His type of ‘normal’ that left Thorin more than a little bewildered. Bilbo had adeptly diverted all threads of conversation away from the events of that night, and so Thorin had been forced to let the subject drop.

“Maybe that’s just his way of dealing with it,” Fili said, and her hesitance as she spoke again let Thorin know she was being careful. “You, er, don’t really like talking about that side of things.”

Thorin lowered his head, conceding her point. It was true that he despised talking about what Fili had tactfully labelled ‘that side of things’. He would always block Dis’ attempts at discussing it and his stubbornness with the subject was what made every session with Dr. Grey such a battle… But, whispered a cunning voice from the back of his mind, perhaps Bilbo was the exception. Would he talk to him about the bullet? Yes, maybe he would, if Bilbo asked. And maybe that’s what was making this situation difficult: knowing that, their positions reversed, Bilbo wouldn’t talk to him.

After Thorin had placed the brown leather bookmark at the correct page in _Brideshead Revisited_ , Dr. Grey had returned to the room, and they had both studied Bilbo’s sleeping form.

_“What happened to him?”_

_“That, my dear Thorin, is something I cannot tell you. Bilbo must tell you himself… Which I believe he will, in time.”_

Thorin’s thoughts were lingering over the image of Bilbo’s pale face, softened by sleep, when Fili shifted in her chair.

“Do you want to talk about something else?” she asked, trying to keep her voice light.

Thorin nodded slowly, sincerely hoping the next topic of discussion was going to prove less of a mental mine-field.

“In that case,” Fili said, rooting through her rucksack. “How would you like to help me revise for my AS History exam?”

Ah, maybe they were going to be talking about literal mine-fields. Despite his profession, Thorin knew very little about history; he had slept through most of his History O-level classes when he was at school. It seemed he had found himself in yet another situation where he felt horrendously unqualified.

“I, erm, I’m maybe not the best person to…” Thorin said vaguely, gesturing at the notes Fili had pulled out of her bag.

“No experience necessary,” Fili grinned. “I made flash-cards. All you have to do is ask me the questions. The answer is written underneath.”

“Right…” Thorin took the stack of colour-coded cards from Fili and examined the first one, reading the title aloud. “Rebellion and Disorder under the Tudors, 1485 to 1603?”

“It’s just as thrilling as it sounds,” Fili commented wryly.

Thorin returned a smirk. “Okay… Shall I…?

“Go for it.”

Thorin squinted at the first question: Fili’s handwriting was ridiculously small, but he managed to decipher it: “Which rebellion took place in the June of 1497?”

“The Cornish Rebellion,” came the answer, without hesitation.

“And which battle brought an end to this rebellion?”

“The Battle of Deptford Bridge.”

Thorin and Fili built up an easy momentum, with questions and answers flowing to and fro. It helped Thorin to focus his mind and was oddly relaxing; of course, it was possible that his niece had been aware of this all along. Fili clearly knew her Tudor Rebellions, and so maybe this exercise was not for her benefit, but for his. They talked of a time centuries before mine-fields and it was strangely soothing for Thorin to think on battles from long ago, rather than those closer to home.

 

 

…

 

 

When they were halfway down the corridor, Thorin stopped. The buzz of the nurses’ station behind him was drilling into the back of his head and down the hall, the sound of the television felt just as threatening. There were too many people, too many noises, and everything was too close, too close…

“I… I just need…” Thorin gasped out, his voice sounding mangled. Was that his own heartbeat he could hear, or was something else drumming in the corridor?

“It’s alright,” Bilbo said quietly, staying close to his side. “We’ll just wait here for a bit.”

Flexing his fingers, Thorin’s eyes darted left and right, watching as patients and hospital staff flowed around him and Bilbo, as if they were nothing but rocks in a stream. What on earth had made him agree to this? He had left the safety of his room and was now stranded in a busy hospital thoroughfare… and he still had his suspicions that he would arrive in the dayroom to discover that Bilbo had, in fact, succeeded in luring him to one of the group therapy sessions he had been avoiding. 

“People are looking,” Thorin muttered finally, his own gaze fixed firmly on the floor.

“Oh, that’s just because of how devilishly handsome I am.”

Thorin’s eyes immediately jumped to Bilbo, who was now chuckling at his own joke. He stared at him, his mouth opening slightly, wondering if he expected a response… and wishing his stomach would stop squirming.

Bilbo only seemed amused by Thorin’s reaction. “Come on, let’s get it over and done with,” he said, his hand hovering dangerously close to Thorin’s arm. “If you want to leave, all you have to do is say, and we’ll leave.”

After studying Bilbo for at least one moment longer than was necessary, Thorin gave a stiff nod. Returning a warm smile, Bilbo led the way down the corridor, and Thorin followed close behind him, like some over-sized, unbearably awkward duckling. They reached the dayroom far sooner than he expected; it seemed it was his anxieties that had made the hallway seem endless and unforgiving.

Whenever Dr. Grey or Bilbo mentioned the dayroom, Thorin had been unable to stop himself picturing a scene from a 1960s horror film: dead-eyed people rocking in the corners, clawing at the walls, rattling the bars on the windows as they fought off white-clad orderlies… It came as a surprise then, when he entered the ward’s dayroom and found none of these things.

The room was painted a sunny yellow colour and they entered next to a wide-screen television that was mounted on the front wall. There were rows of comfy-looking sofas set up in view of the TV, filled with both patients and nurses who were talking easily amongst themselves. Towards the back of the room were circular tables and chairs where more patients were sitting and chatting, and a few junior doctors in their dark red scrubs were moving slowly around the room, speaking with patients as they passed. There was a relaxed yet lively buzz in the room, and Thorin was left thoroughly stumped.

Which was why he was also blocking the doorway. Bilbo tactfully reached out a hand to him. “Watch yourself, Thorin.”

Thorin regained himself, moving to the side as another patient slid past. He saw Bilbo’s hand drop to his side. Had he actually felt his fingers on his arm, or had he imagined it? And why was he worried about this tiny, inconsequential detail when the greater worry was that he was now in a room full of strangers with only one exit?

“B-Bilbo!”

Bilbo grinned up at Thorin. “There’s a couple of people I’d like you to meet.”

Thorin’s lungs curled in on themselves. He followed Bilbo’s gaze to where two patients were standing by a table at the other end of the room, looking at them expectantly. It was then that Thorin realised Bilbo thought it was a good idea to introduce him to his friends… He didn’t have time to explain this horrific misconception before Bilbo had set off towards them. Thorin could either follow him, or be left alone by the door. He decided the former was less likely to cause a panic attack.

Trailing Bilbo to the table, Thorin counted. _One… Two… Why am I here? … Three… Four… One… I could ask to leave now… Two… Three…_ He was sure everyone was looking at him as he navigated his way to the back of the room. A few of the nurses that he recognised were attempting to hide their surprised stares, and he was pretty sure the junior doctor he’d threatened to strangle with his own stethoscope in his first week did a U-turn when he saw him approaching. It was only a small blessing that Radagast didn’t appear to be on-shift, and therefore wasn’t around to organise some sort of welcoming parade.

Reaching the table, Thorin tried to stop his eyes from widening. The man who had called to Bilbo could only be a year or so older than Fili. Too young to be in here, Thorin thought gravely, too young to have experienced what must have brought him to this point. He was almost as short as Bilbo and sporting a knitted, light purple jumper with matching fingerless mittens with which he was currently fidgeting.

“Thorin, this is Ori,” Bilbo said pleasantly. “Ori, this is –”

“C-C-Captain Oakenshield, S-Sir!” Ori stammered, looking up at Thorin with impossibly large and round eyes.

Thorin stiffened. It appeared his reputation had preceded him.

“Now, Ori, remember: we don’t pull rank here,” Bilbo said gently, his eyes flitting to Thorin.

“Oh yes… S-sorry,” Ori said, a blush creeping into his fair cheeks. “Hello Th-Thorin.”

Ori offered his hand and Thorin’s posture became even more rigid. In the periphery of his vision, he saw Bilbo give a slight shake of his head. Ori immediately dropped his hand, but managed a smile, obviously anticipating some sort of reaction. Thorin knew if he chose this moment to use Bilbo’s ‘Get Out of Jail Free’ card and left Ori waiting, it would be like kicking a puppy. Sucking in a deep breath through his nose, and trying to relax his stance to make himself seem a little less… _threatening_ – if Ori’s expression was anything to go by – Thorin made the conscious decision to be sociable.

“Hello,” he said quietly.

By some miracle, Bilbo was still smiling, and didn’t appear to be regretting bringing Thorin along. He turned to the other man, and Thorin did a double-take which he sincerely hoped was more subtle than it felt. Wrapped in a fawn dressing gown, the man appeared to be in his early fifties, and there was a large purple scar running out of his salt-and-pepper hair and down his forehead. Thorin felt a little guilty that his own scar, which caused him so much anxiety, was nothing in comparison.

“And this is Bifur,” Bilbo said cheerily. “He’s a bit of an establishment here at Ered Luin.”

Thorin nodded at Bifur. “Hello.”

Bilbo’s hands were suddenly chopping through the air and Thorin moved away. It took him a few moments to realise that Bilbo was signing, and quite avidly. He watched in nothing short of awe as Bilbo conducted an animated conversation with Bifur, who signed back equally rapidly. Thorin’s eyes never left Bilbo’s hands as they curved into complex gestures, and he was completely mesmerised. He’d never met anyone who could speak Sign Language before.

The hands stilled and now Bilbo himself was looking at Thorin, almost bashfully. “My unit learnt a few bits and pieces of BSL to communicate during a mission, years ago,” he explained. “So I figured I might as well become fluent.”

It would be just like Bilbo to figure that, Thorin thought, before he could stop himself. It struck him then that Bilbo was one of the world’s interesting people. There was no getting away from it: everything about him was interesting. Thorin, on the other hand, had been aware for some time that he was not a particularly interesting person.

Bilbo was studying him, concern evident in his green-grey eyes. Thorin gave a nervous cough and shifted slightly.

“How, er, how do you say ‘Hello’… In Sign Language?” he asked, frowning.

“Oh, well, this is the sign for ‘hello’,” Bilbo replied, and waved his right hand in front of him slowly, in one back and forth motion.

Thorin turned to Bifur and mimicked the movement. To his surprise, Bifur actually seemed impressed and returned a thumbs up.

“Bifur can still understand you,” Bilbo said, smiling at the older man. “He just finds speaking difficult, so signing makes things run much smoother.”

Tearing his eyes away from Bifur’s scar, Thorin felt further sickly feelings of guilt sprouting like black tendrils in his stomach… This was what the doctors meant when they told him how ‘lucky’ he was.

“Cards, gentlemen?” Bilbo asked, gesturing to the table behind Bifur and Ori.

Ori made a noise of approval and Bifur gave an enthusiastic nod. Thorin allowed himself to be steered into a chair next to Bilbo, but his chest was feeling tight again. He knew Ori and Bifur were staring at him, and every time he accidentally caught their eye, they smiled. He decided looking at the table in front of him was his safest option.

“Ah, Beorn? Could we trouble you for a pack of playing cards?”

Thorin risked lifting his eyes from the table and saw Bilbo had stopped Beorn, one of the hospital’s longest serving nurses. He was a hulking, giant of a man, even taller than Thorin, with wild grey eyebrows and alert black eyes… but he was also a strangely gentle soul. Thorin had had the pleasure of being restrained by him a couple of times, and although those memories were sealed in a drugged haze, he still remembered Beorn’s low, calming voice.

Beorn grinned at Bilbo. “Of course, a pack of cards for Little Bunny.”

The nurse set off to collect the cards, leaving Bilbo with a rather attractive red creeping into his cheeks.

“ _Little Bunny_?” Thorin repeated quietly, unable to stop the smirk that sprang to his lips.

Bifur and Ori exchanged a glance and sniggered. Bifur then lifted his hands to mime rabbit ears.

“Yes, alright,” Bilbo sighed, shooting daggers at the pair. He then turned to Thorin, the crimson starting to sneak up his neck from under his grey hoodie. “It was my codename whilst I was training… My commanding officer seemed to think it was ‘appropriate’. I made the mistake of revealing this to Beorn.”

Watching Bilbo become flustered made Thorin feel oddly giddy, and with a jolt he realised, unbelievable as it was, that he might actually be enjoying himself.

“It suits you,” he commented, feigning innocence.

“Oh, don’t you start!” Bilbo groaned, but then he flashed Thorin a grin, which only made the giddiness worse.

“Cards for Little Bunny.” Beorn had returned. He handed the pack over to Bilbo, who took them with a good-natured scowl.

“We usually play Rummy,” Bilbo said, the blush slowly leaving his cheeks. He began to shuffle the cards with deft hand movements.

“Oh,” Thorin murmured. “We, er, we used to play that back at the barracks, after patrol.”

Bilbo sliced the pack, watching Thorin carefully. “Okay?”

Thorin knew he was essentially asking him if the game would be a trigger, without having to say the words. Thorin nodded.

“Excellent,” Bilbo smiled, and began to deal to the four of them.

“B-Bilbo always w-wins,” Ori said, fanning out his hand of cards.

Bilbo inspected his own hand. “That’s not true.”

“It is,” Ori insisted. “And y-you f-figure out which… c-c-cards everyone is c-c-collecting and p-pick them up on… p-purpose to s-stop them winning!”

“Tactics, Ori. But well done for cottoning on to that, I didn’t think anyone had noticed.”

Thorin listened to this conversation, watching Bilbo and Ori over the top of his fanned-out hand. It had taken him a few minutes to realise that Ori actually had a stutter, and wasn’t just terrified of him. It was possible that he had stuttered before the war that brought him here, but, really, part of Thorin knew that the stutter was a product of what Ori had been through.

In different ways, Thorin, Ori, and Bifur all struggled to communicate, and two of them wore the marks of their ordeals across their heads for all to see… But Bilbo was an enigma. Thorin watched him as he rearranged his hand. Aside from the shadows beneath his eyes, he bore no outer signs of his torment. He spoke well and frequently, and seemed to be able to function normally in day to day life. Thorin didn’t begrudge him that, but still he wondered what was hidden behind Bilbo’s smile. He wondered what haunted him; what had visited him in the darkness a few nights ago…

“Thorin?”

Thorin suddenly looked up to find Bilbo studying him. “Hmm?”

“It’s your play,” Bilbo replied, indicating the pile in the middle of the table.

“Oh.” He hastily collected the Seven of Hearts Ori had put down and dropped a useless Four of Clubs onto the pile.

The game resumed, and Thorin tried to pay more attention this time round. He just allowed himself a few glances at Bilbo every now and then… and he tried not to notice how endearing Bilbo’s look of concentration was, and how it made a few wrinkles appear on his forehead.

“Oh, I wish they wouldn’t watch this,” Bilbo sighed suddenly, picking up a card.

Thorin furrowed his brow, but then he saw Ori and Bifur look towards the television, before turning to Bilbo with sympathy. Thorin glanced at the screen and saw several shots of food being displayed to light classical music. A title card declared the programme to be ‘The Great British Bake Off’.

“I mean, it’s just cruel,” Bilbo continued. “Tempting me with such things when I’m so far from my own kitchen. If there’s one thing I miss, it’s baking.”

Thorin stared at Bilbo: he was being deadly serious. Army food and army cooking had suited Thorin down to the ground. As much as he had enjoyed Kili’s Mars Bar slice, it was difficult to shake the mind-set that food was just a necessary thing for survival, and he had forgotten there were people who actually put effort into it.

“Oh, I f-forgot to t-tell you!” Ori said, his expression brightening. “D-Dori is visiting t-tomorrow… and he’s b-bringing you s-some c-c-cappuccino c-c-cupcakes… He f-found a g-good recipe that uses d-decaffeinated c-c-coffee.”

“My kingdom for some caffeine,” Bilbo said, with mock theatricality. “But thank you, Ori, that’s great news… Definitely something to look forward to.”

Ori was beaming as they continued playing. Two things now made Thorin tighten his grip on his cards. Firstly, the realisation that Bilbo was also being subjected to a caffeine-detox diet. Thorin had tried to explain that he wasn’t going to sleep at night, whether he drank coffee or not, but Dr. Grey had been adamant: no caffeine, and the hospital’s decaffeinated coffee both looked and tasted like muddy water. He wasn’t fussy with food, but Thorin rather liked coffee, and so this was one more deprivation to deal with.

Secondly, Thorin wondered why a relative of Ori’s was bringing Bilbo cupcakes. If he was honest with himself, Ori and Bifur were unexpected. But, really, he should have known better. Bilbo visited the dayroom and had been here for a while, and as he wasn’t an emotionally-constipated, antisocial old man, of course he would have friends at the hospital. It was a return of the protective feeling Thorin had experienced when Dis tried to pry into Bilbo’s personal life. When it came to Bilbo, for whatever reason, Thorin didn’t like sharing. Perhaps it was because Thorin had somehow thought himself special, that Bilbo had chosen to befriend him… But now he was discovering that Bilbo may simply be a nice person who was friendly with everyone, and Thorin just happened to be his next door neighbour.

Thorin watched as Bilbo picked up the Three of Diamonds Ori clearly needed.

“B-bastard,” he said, though he was smiling.

Bilbo returned a roguish grin, and it made Thorin’s stomach twist sharply. He couldn’t stop looking at Bilbo… And, finally, he realised. Bilbo was handsome… very handsome. Thorin had originally thought no one would look twice in the street… but he would. That was why he had frozen when Bilbo made the joke out in the corridor on the way there: because he agreed with him. It struck Thorin then that if he found Bilbo attractive, others might too. He watched Ori, who was watching Bilbo. The two were clearly close, and Bilbo seemed to have taken the younger man under his wing. The black feelings continued to stir in Thorin’s stomach… _Oh beware, my lord, of Jealousy! It is the green-eyed monster which doth mock the meat it feeds on…_

“Er, Thorin?”

Everyone was staring at him. Thorin felt his face grow hot.

“I know it’s cheating to look at other people’s cards,” Bilbo said, suppressing a smile. “But I can’t help but notice that you’ve… won?”

Thorin stared down at his cards, a breath getting stuck in his throat. He had four Sevens and three Kings fanned out in his hand: a winning hand. “Oh… Um, yes,” Thorin said, with a cough, as he laid his cards out on the table.

So, he might be spectacularly awful at important things such as basic human communication and breathing, but it appeared Thorin was rather good at Rummy.

 

 

It still came as no surprise that Bilbo did manage to win the next two rounds, and then the game had to break up as nurses began ferrying patients back to their rooms. After bidding goodbye to Bifur and Ori, Thorin and Bilbo were left alone outside the dayroom.

“Shall we?” Bilbo asked, gesturing down the corridor.

Thorin nodded and they set off towards the nurses’ station. They walked in companionable silence, and Thorin was sure he could feel Bilbo’s good mood radiating out into the hallway. He supposed he should be in a good mood as well. It was no small achievement for him: surviving the best part of an hour in the dayroom, surrounded by people he didn’t know… actually talking to people he didn’t know. And he had never asked to leave. He supposed that felt good…and part of that good feeling somehow came from knowing that Bilbo might be pleased with him. But this also pulled at the knot of messy feelings he was still trying to decipher regarding Bilbo.

“Right, well, this is me.”

They had reached Bilbo’s room. Thorin turned so that he was standing opposite Bilbo in the doorway, and waited there, feeling awkward again.

Bilbo studied Thorin for a moment, and then he said softly: “You did really well.”

From anyone else, this would have sounded patronising, but Bilbo’s tone was just right so Thorin knew what he was trying to say… and, at receiving Bilbo’s approval, a hint of giddiness returned amongst the mesh of conflicting feelings in Thorin’s stomach.

Thorin tried to formulate an acceptable response, but didn’t quite manage it. A grunt and a nod happened instead. It was then that Thorin had a bright idea, which was, admittedly, a rare occurrence. Today, he had learnt that there were many ways to communicate.

“How… How do you say ‘thank you’ in Sign Language?” he asked tentatively.

“Oh,” Bilbo smiled. “Like this.” He lifted his right hand up and, holding it flat with his thumb sticking out, touched his chin, before bringing his hand out towards Thorin.

Thorin furrowed his brow in concentration and then copied the gesture.

Bilbo made another sign using both hands. “That means ‘you’re welcome’.”

In the silence that followed, Thorin and Bilbo smiled at each other for longer than was probably acceptable in public, but Thorin didn’t care. At that moment, he felt they were both sharing in some small victory.

“I’ll see you later,” Bilbo said finally, breaking the silence.

“Right,” Thorin agreed.

With another smile, Bilbo turned and moved into his room. Unfortunately, there was a disconnect between Thorin’s brain and his body, and although he intended to also return to his room, he found himself lingering in Bilbo’s doorway. He watched as Bilbo walked over to his bed and stopped… and then turned around to find Thorin staring at him rather intensely.

Bilbo opened his mouth to speak, but, miraculously, Thorin got there first. “Er… I’ll just…” He pointed towards his room. Bilbo nodded.

Finally getting his legs to co-operate, Thorin shuffled through his doorway, his fingers in fists, once again mentally beating himself into the ground with a nail-embellished plank of wood. Sometimes, he was just so smooth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter, we’ll be meeting Kili!
> 
> … But about that. I’ll be returning to work as of next week, so I’m afraid I won’t be able to update as regularly as I have been doing. 
> 
> However, I want you all to know that this fic is far from abandoned, and I really will do my best to keep the chapters coming!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, work has been pretty manic but I’ve somehow found time to get this chapter written… Now, this is 4,000 words of unadulterated fluff, you have been warned!

The door opened, but it was Fili, not Kili, who slipped into the room. Thorin stopped pacing, standing awkwardly by the end of his bed. It was a wonder he hadn’t worn a large groove into the floor with all his back and forth fretting.

“Hi,” Fili said warmly, closing the door almost shut behind her. “I’m here to give you your pep-talk.”

Kili’s voice – excitable and rapid-fire – sounded from outside, followed by Dis’ lower, more measured tones. To say Thorin was nervous was, of course, coloured with many shades of irony… but this feeling squeezing his gut was different to the common, garden-variety panic he was used to contending with every day. Perhaps this was what he would have felt if he’d known Fili was coming to visit a couple of weeks ago, but she had appeared out of the void and his anxiety hadn’t had time to ferment.

Fili followed her uncle’s gaze to where it was fixed on the doorway. “Radagast is just showing Kili around the ward… They’re already best friends.”

Thorin hoped the groan prompted by this revelation was internal, but a wry smile had appeared on Fili’s lips. Radagast was enough to deal with when he started conspiring; Thorin would rather he didn’t have a partner-in-crime, and that this partner not be his own nephew.

“Do you want to sit down?” Fili asked gently, looking to the window.

Eyeing the chairs to his right, Thorin did very much want to sit down… or, better still, lie face down on the floor, but his whole body had gone rigid. His treacherous nerves seemed to have sprouted out from his slippers, anchoring him to the spot. He only hoped the look he gave his niece wasn’t too pathetic.

Fili seemed to understand: “No worries, I’ve been sat down all day anyway.” There was humour in her voice, but no derision. It helped to ease some of the pressure in Thorin’s chest.

It then occurred to him that he hadn’t actually spoken to her yet; he really was on poor form today. All his desperate attempts at finding something to say that wasn’t anything to do with the weather were interrupted when Fili spoke again.

“He’s so excited to be here, you know,” she grinned. “It’s all he’s been talking about for days.”

Thorin knew Fili was trying to be helpful, and he would never hold it against her, but this news suddenly set him a few steps – or maybe a few miles – back. How could he possibly live up to his nephew’s expectations? He wasn’t sure what kind of uncle Kili was imagining, but he was sure it wasn’t the gaunt, scarred man cowering in his room, unable to make even the most basic conversation with those he should be closest to.

“Uncle?” Fili’s voice was very quiet now, and her expression had grown both serious and soft at the same time: another way in which she resembled her mother. She edged forward, but still kept a comfortable distance. “Kili knows you’ve been sick, and he’s not expecting anything from you… You don’t have to say a single word today and he’ll still adore you.”

Realising Fili was developing Dis’ powers of deduction would have been frightening under any other circumstances, but at that moment, Thorin was thankful for her being able to read his mind. He nodded slowly.

“Radagast has got loads of things lined up for Kili to do whilst he’s visiting,” Fili explained, after a pause. “He’s going to take his blood pressure, his temperature, show him how to use a stethoscope… that kind of thing. You can just watch and get involved only when you want to… If you need us to leave at any point, just let me know, or you can step out of the room and someone will take you to a quiet space.”

Thorin suspected Fili had been rehearsing this for a while before she came in, but he had to admit it was somehow comforting to know that the hospital were taking great pains to make this visit appear as threat-free as possible.

“Okay,” Thorin murmured, uttering his first word since Fili had entered the room.

She smiled and then began to fiddle with the sleeve of her red and brown plaid shirt, rolling it back up to her elbow: a sign that she was giving him some space to process all this new information. He appreciated the get-out clauses Fili had offered, but he knew the ache in his chest came from hoping it wouldn’t come to that… This meeting mattered to him, just as Kili mattered to him.

“Also, Mum has pulled all her teacher crap and basically drummed a hospital behaviour policy into him, so he’s not going to be swinging from any IV stands,” Fili said, with a smirk.

A smile Thorin hadn’t been expecting tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Shame… I’d love to see the look on your mum’s face if he broke something in my room.”

“Oh, there’s plenty of time for that,” Fili assured him, her smirk turning wicked. “Just one more thing…”

Thorin’s breath caught as Fili’s expression took on a trademark sheepishness.

“Kili knows we shake hands at the end of every visit, but he’s somehow got it into his head that he needs to shake your hand when he first meets you… Would you mind? If it’s going to be a problem, I can sort it.”

Thorin thought for a moment. Imagining an uncomfortable alternative where he was faced with a nephew who wouldn’t dare come anywhere near him, Thorin realised he could do far worse than a simple handshake.

“That’s fine,” he said, and he could tell from Fili’s posture that she was preparing to leave the room again as their conversation came to a close.

“Great… So, do you need a few minutes, or…?”

There was a hint of nervousness in Fili’s tone, but Thorin did his best to ignore it. He knew dragging out this period before Kili came through that doorway would only become a new form of torture and so, for once, he didn’t choose the route of masochism.

“I’m ready,” Thorin replied, though the heavy beat of his heart was attempting to speak over him.

Fili’s fingers twitched in his direction, but never made it any further. Thorin knew that, in an ordinary situation, this would be the time for a squeeze of his arm, a brush of hands… but he also knew that the meanings behind all these touches were present in Fili’s blue eyes.

“It’ll be fine,” she said softly. “Honestly, you’ll do great.”

It felt as if Fili was prepping him for his first performance… Perhaps she was: Captain Thorin Oakenshield in the starring role of ‘Normal Uncle’.

The lowering of his head gave Fili permission to leave the room, and then she was gone, leaving a terrifying, empty silence in her wake.  The orchestra in the pit of Thorin’s stomach started up and his heart began a building drumroll. _One… Two… Three… Four… Five…_ The red curtains shuddered.

A chorus of voices sounded outside the door, and a boy with a mop of unruly, dark brown hair bounded into the room, skidding to a halt in front of Thorin.

“Uncle Thorin! We’ve got the same doctor!”

Kili’s arm shot out to display his wrist. Peeking from beneath his black school blazer, Thorin could see a medical bracelet that did indeed have Dr. Grey’s name written beneath ‘Kili Oakenshield’. His nephew was staring up at him with the widest smile Thorin had ever seen. There was no trace of fear, no hesitance; no hint that Kili felt this situation was out of the ordinary. Only now did Thorin accept that he really had been expecting Kili to be afraid of him. This reaction, though a little startling, was already melting some of the icy spines that had been sticking into his chest.

Coughing to try and encourage his heart to climb back down his throat, Thorin held out his own wrist, displaying a matching bracelet. “So we do,” he said, wincing as his voice cracked, but Kili didn’t appear to notice.

He was still beaming as he opened the hand of his outstretched arm, obviously preparing to shake. “I’m Kili. Fili said you would remember me, but I thought I’d tell you, just in case.”

Thorin’s eyes slipped to Fili, who was standing a few feet behind her brother with Dis and Radagast. Her eyes were bright and there was a quirk of amusement on her lips.

“I remember you,” Thorin murmured, and with the drumroll of his heart reaching a crescendo, he shook Kili’s hand.

And he did remember him. Kili had the same cheeky glint in his coffee-coloured eyes as the eight-year-old Thorin had known, and tangles of dark hair still fell over his face so that when he huffed, they danced in front of his nose. The only thing that was different was Kili’s height: he seemed to have shot up a good many inches since they had last met, and the lankiness of his limbs foretold another impending growth spurt.

Kili’s head was now tilted slightly to the side and there was a small crease in his brow. “Does it hurt?”

Thorin’s insides shrivelled. His nephew was staring at the ugly, dark pink scar that sliced across the left side of his head.

“Kee,” came Fili’s low warning from behind them.

Kili turned briefly to his sister, confusion clouding his face, before looking back at his uncle with genuine concern. Thorin swallowed, flexing his fingers. There were four people between him and the door, and if he fell at this first hurdle, he would never forgive himself. Radagast and Dis had moved into the room, and Thorin could see Fili shift her position, as if she was preparing to grab her brother’s shoulders and pull him out of the way as their uncle bolted. _One… Two… Three…_ It was a simple question, one not meant to cause offence, and Kili was clearly wondering what he had done wrong.

“No,” Thorin said quietly. “Not anymore.”

Kili easily shrugged off the tension in the room, and was smiling again. “I’ve got one too,” he said, suddenly reaching down to pull up one leg of his black trousers. He revealed his pink knee-cap where a white scar forked across it like lightning. “I got this last year when I fell off my bike… Yours is way cooler though.”

The trouser leg was dropped and Kili set about studiously readjusting his green and white hospital bracelet. It seemed this was all he had to say on his uncle’s scar… No fear, no disgust, no follow-up questions about the bullet. Thorin’s shoulders slowly slid down as he felt the muscles relax and he exhaled carefully.

Kili was studying him again. “Did you like my Mars Bar slice?” he asked, and for the first time, he actually sounded a little nervous.

Thorin smiled, relieved that they were moving away from minefield territory and onto baking products. “Of course,” he replied, unconsciously glancing behind him.

“You kept my note!”

Kili leapt over to the opposite wall where the message that had been attached to the Tupperware box was tacked next to Thorin’s bed. He then let out a low whine.

“I knew I’d spelled ‘hope’ wrong… Mum, can I have a pen?”

Thorin watched as Dis produced a black biro from her suit jacket pocket. “Here you go, sweetheart.”

Kili gratefully retrieved the pen and then returned to the note. Thorin could hear a low hum as he read it under his breath. Risking a glance at his sister, he found Dis’ blue eyes were already watching him. She gave a small smile before she turned to watch Kili correcting his mistakes with a certain fondness that was mirrored in Fili’s expression next to her. Thorin wondered at Dis’ wall-flower act… Today she seemed content to let her children take the floor and not bother her brother with questions she knew he didn’t want to answer. Radagast was being equally withdrawn, but Thorin didn’t want to risk looking at the nurse and make him think this was an invite for conversation.

“Done!” Kili announced, turning away from his newly-corrected note in triumph.

“Why didn’t you write the note on yellow paper?” Dis asked, as Kili handed back the pen.

Kili shrugged. “Mr. Greenwood didn’t have any because he’s a crap teacher.”

Fili hid a laugh behind her hand and Dis scowled: “Kili.”

“Sorry,” Kili said, only just supressing his eye-roll. “Mr. Greenwood didn’t have any because he’s a _rubbish_ teacher.”

Thorin was completely lost on the meaning of the yellow paper, but he was enjoying Kili’s mettle in the face of his mother’s death stare.

“Are you about ready to have your blood pressure taken, Kili?” Radagast asked, stepping from the corner. Thorin knew these medical distractions were for his benefit, but he suspected the nurse was also attempting to rescue Kili from Dis’ wrath.

“Yeah!” Kili said, swinging away from Dis. “Uncle Thorin, please may we use your bed?”

Thorin froze at being addressed, but still managed to stammer out: “Er… right, yes…”

He shuffled away from the end of his bed as Radagast moved past him to collect the blood pressure monitor from a low cupboard.

“Shoes off please, Kili,” Dis said, the fond smile returning.

Kili nodded and quickly slipped off his black leather Converse before clambering onto the bed. Thorin slowly retreated, taking Fili’s place as she went to help Kili remove his blazer. Dis appeared at her brother’s arm, her smile not wavering as she watched the proceedings.

“He worships the ground she walks on,” she commented softly.

Thorin turned to study his niece and nephew. Fili gave her brother a playful shove so that he would inch over and make room for her on the bed. Radagast pulled up Kili’s white shirt sleeve and wrapped the dark blue cuff around his upper arm. All the while, Kili was chattering on excitedly about a first aid course he’d taken at school. It would be obvious to anyone how close brother and sister were. Thorin gave Dis a side-ways glance and she returned a knowing smile. Their relationship was a little different, and had been even when they were younger, but still Thorin felt another mirror-line had appeared across the room… He just wasn’t going to say anything to Dis about it.

She suddenly leaned in closer to him, and whispered conspiratorially: “I think we have another visitor.”

Thorin raised an eyebrow at his sister’s unnerving look of mischief. He then turned to find Bilbo standing in the doorway. The feat of gymnastics his heart performed at that moment shouldn’t have been legal. Bilbo grinned, his grey-green eyes full of light, and used a double thumbs-up to slowly sign: _‘How are you?’_. Thorin knew his own hands had developed a tremble, but he still returned a double thumbs-up, signing: _‘I’m fine, thank you’_.

Dis watched this exchange with a look caught between intrigue and incredulity. “You speak Sign Language now?” she asked, keeping her voice low.

“Erm… Just a few signs… I’m, er, just learning how to finger-spell…” Thorin replied distractedly, his eyes not leaving Bilbo.

“Right.” Dis sounded impressed, but this was marred slightly by an expression which clearly said: Who are you and what have you done with my brother?

“I… I should…” Thorin gestured absent-mindedly towards the door.

“Yes,” Dis said, and her amused smirk was infuriating.

Thorin shuffled over to Bilbo, shoving his shaking hands into his sweat-pants’ pockets. “Hello,” he said, unable to help the smile that crept onto his lips.

“Sorry, I don’t want to intrude…” Bilbo began, looking to Kili, who was now fastening the blood pressure cuff around his sister’s arm.

Thorin’s stomach scrunched in on itself. He knew visiting hours were difficult for Bilbo and he wondered whether this was some kind of masochistic act: coming to see Thorin the first time his whole family visited.

“You’re not intruding,” Thorin assured him, and he found he very much wanted to reach out to Bilbo… but his hands stayed firmly in his pockets. “Have you, er, been to the dayroom?” Bilbo tended to drop in on Bifur and Ori when their families were visiting.

“Not yet,” Bilbo replied, his smile becoming cryptic.

“Dori isn’t bringing you anything from his bakery today?” Thorin asked, trying to sound casual… Unsure of why he was pushing this subject.

Bilbo’s unfathomable smile remained. “I’m not sure, but I thought I’d come and bother you first.”

“You’re… er, not bothering me,” Thorin said, and a millisecond later realised Bilbo’s comment wasn’t meant to be taken literally. A nail-infested plank of wood was hovering over his head.

Bilbo gave a short laugh. “Well, I’ll try harder next time.” His gaze returned to Thorin’s bed where Radagast was fitting a stethoscope into Kili’s ears, and his voice took on an indecipherable tenderness. “He looks like you."

Thorin’s eyes moved to Kili… He supposed they did look alike in some ways. They had the same dark hair and brows, and Kili was definitely tall for his age. For some reason this thought made a giddy warmth spread out from Thorin’s stomach. He realised Bilbo was watching him watching Kili, and his heart continued the manic beat it always adopted when he knew Bilbo was looking at him.

“Uncle! I know how to use a stethoscope now!”

Kili scrambled off the bed and rushed to Thorin, the stethoscope swinging from his hand.

“Kili, your uncle is talking,” Dis said, but the rebuke seemed only half-hearted: the amused smirk was still in place.

“Sorry,” Kili said, with honest contrition. He looked to Bilbo. “Hello, I’m Kili.” He offered his stethoscope-free hand.

“Pleased to meet you, Kili. I’m Bilbo,” Bilbo replied, shaking Kili’s hand.

“Oh!” Kili’s face lit up with recognition. “Fili’s told me all about you!”

Over by his bed, Thorin saw Fili’s cheeks begin to colour as she tried to avoid Bilbo’s eye.

“Really?” Bilbo asked, grinning. “She hasn’t said anything too bad, I hope?”

“No, she says you’re really nice,” Kili explained, missing the meaning in Bilbo’s words. “And that you’re Uncle Thorin’s best friend at the hospital and –”

“Kee, please stop talking,” Fili begged, looking even more mortified than the time Bilbo had commented on her peering into his room.

Kili’s brow furrowed in confusion, but he still fell silent. Thorin’s train of thought was travelling down the line of wondering about how his niece had defined his relationship with Bilbo when Dis spoke up.

“So how does a stethoscope work, then, Kili?” she prompted.

The confusion vanished from Kili’s face. “Can I listen to your heart, Uncle?” he asked, already putting the stethoscope into his ears.

Thorin could hear his heart begin to pound even harder in protest, and both Fili and Radagast moved forward to intervene, but still he answered: “Okay.” He’d made it this far… There would be no falling at the final hurdle either.

Kili’s expression became serious as he tapped the chest-piece to check he could hear properly. Thorin stood impossibly still as Kili reached up, placing the chest-piece against the thin cotton of his t-shirt. The whole room fell silent as Kili listened, waiting for him to deliver his verdict. _One… Two… Three… Four… Five…_

“Your heart’s beating really fast!” Kili exclaimed as he drew away. He then turned to Radagast. “Nurse Brown, does that mean it’s really strong?”

“Yes, I’d say so,” Radagast replied, winking at Thorin. Thorin scowled at him.

“Can I listen to your heart too, Bilbo?” Kili asked, holding up the chest-piece.

Thorin tensed, finding a sudden reversal in roles as he prepared to intervene, but Bilbo didn’t even flinch.

“Of course, listen away,” he said warmly.

Grinning, Kili wiggled the stethoscope into his ears and reached up to Bilbo’s chest – he didn’t quite have as far to reach as when he had listened to his uncle’s chest.

“Your heart’s beating super fast as well!” Kili cried, looking up at Bilbo in nothing short of awe.

Thorin did a double-take. As he met Bilbo’s eyes, something danced across them that he couldn’t fathom, so he quickly looked away… Only to see Fili and Dis exchange wry smiles, their lips curving in exactly the same way. Thorin was sure he was missing something.

“Well, I guess I must have a strong heart, then,” Bilbo said, as Kili withdrew the stethoscope.

“Kili, we’ve only got about ten more minutes, love,” Dis said, drawing her son’s attention away from Thorin and Bilbo. “Do you want to show your uncle your book?”

“Oh, yeah!”

Kili returned the stethoscope to Radagast and then rushed to his school bag which Dis had set on the coffee table. After a few moments of rooting, he pulled out what appeared to be a library book and a sheet of transparent yellow plastic.

“I have to make sure I read every day,” Kili explained, turning to Thorin. “And I asked Miss Silvan and she said it’d be okay if you read with me today… If that’s okay with you, Uncle?”

Kili’s eyes had become impossibly round and Thorin wasn’t sure if he was putting on this puppy-dog look on purpose.

“Oh, your uncle’s very good at reading to people,” Bilbo put in from the doorway.

Thorin turned to him. “I believe you fell asleep the last time I read to you?”

Bilbo’s smile became a Cheshire Cat grin, and it did something strange to Thorin’s chest. “Ah yes, sorry about that…”

They both shared a chuckle and it was only when Thorin stopped laughing that he realised everyone else was staring at them. He couldn’t decide which was worse: Fili and Radagast’s matching looks of glee or Dis’ pointed raised eyebrow.

Thorin coughed. “Er… I’d like that, Kili.”

Kili looked fit to burst as Fili steered him into a chair by the window and then proceeded to pull the opposing chair next to it, ready for Thorin.

“Right, well, I best be off.”

Thorin furrowed his brow as Bilbo made to move from the doorway. “You can stay, if you want to.”

“No, really, I’ve only got ten minutes to sniff out some cakes in the dayroom,” Bilbo replied. “But I’ll see you later.”

Thorin nodded, hoping Bilbo really was going in search of company (and cake) and wouldn’t be sitting in his room alone. With a final smile and a wave – which Thorin knew was the sign for ‘goodbye’ – Bilbo disappeared.

Tearing his eyes from the door, Thorin found Kili waiting patiently for him, the book open in his lap with the yellow sheet over one page. Fili was standing dutifully behind his chair whilst Dis spoke quietly with Radagast. As Thorin took a seat, Kili slid the book over so that it rested between them.

“This is my overlay, it helps me see the words better,” Kili said, tapping the plastic sheet.

“Right,” Thorin replied, suddenly twigging why Kili might need to write on yellow paper.

“We’re reading _The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes_ ,” Kili said. “Me and Fili started a new story last night… Do you want me to explain what’s already happened so you don’t get confused?”

Thorin smiled. “Alright.”

Kili launched into an animated explanation of the London detective’s latest client. Thorin listened and nodded at the appropriate points, finding himself asking questions when Kili paused for breath. It was then that he experienced a strange out-of-body feeling where he could see himself, sitting and talking with his niece and nephew… as if the bullet had never happened. He was fulfilling the role of ‘Normal Uncle’, and as he and Kili began to read, he saw one black obstacle crumble to a fine dust and catch a wind, swishing around the red as the final curtain was called. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to say that I love hearing from my readers and your comments never fail to bring the biggest smile to my face. Thank you all so much for taking the time to offer your feedback on this story, it absolutely makes my day!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi folks! So, just as Bilbo balances out Thorin, this update balances out the fluffiness of the last chapter as we hit Angst Central… But there is also some light-hearted discussion of British biscuits, so it’s not completely and utterly awful, promise! 
> 
> Warning: The majority of this chapter revolves around another panic attack, and there will be mentions of self-harm and suicidal thoughts. If anyone would rather not read this chapter, but would still like its plot summary, please do let me know in a comment and I’ll happily give you an outline.

_He’s dead… He’s dead… He’s dead… He’s dead… HE’S DEAD… HE’S DEAD… HE’S DEAD… HE’SDEADHE’SDEADHE’SDEADHE’SDEADHE’SDEADHE’S…_

Thorin crushed his knees into his chest, as if trying to push another desperate breath out of his failing lungs. One arm was wrapped protectively around his legs, and the other was raised so that he could hold his hand to the left side of his head in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding. He could feel something warm and sticky trickling between his fingers and his skull was on fire, as if wrenched open by tectonic-scale forces, the bullet: the earthquake. He hunched forward, the top of his head pressing against the bed frame. He might be safe under here… but for how long?

Cold sweat slid down his face, into his beard, and the t-shirt was sticking to his neck, only increasing the pressure at his throat, as if he was being strangled. His breaths were so shallow and sharp, they were impossible to distinguish from the gunfire crashing around him, and inhaling was becoming harder and harder. He was drowning from the inside out and his body was heavy… so heavy: a rock sinking to the bottom of the sea. Thorin could do nothing but let himself be pulled under.

Yet, oblivion refused to arrive. He was left agonisingly awake, struggling to breathe and bleeding out. The hand against his head was trembling violently now and he couldn’t still it… Blood, he was losing too much blood…

_“Thorin…?”_

_“Thorin!”_

_“Has someone paged Dr. Grey?... Well, where is he?!”_

The shouts rang in Thorin’s ears, slicing right through him, and he tightened his knees against his heart, if only to keep it from breaking free of his ribcage.  He didn’t recognise the voices, but they were too far away… too far away from safety. They were out there in the open, vulnerable and exposed.

_“Get down, you fools! GET DOWN!”_

That was his own voice, hoarse and horrified, but it was completely detached from him… echoing in some darker corner of the room. More shouts came from beyond. Why weren’t they moving?! He could do nothing to save them now… It was his fault they were here to begin with: he had unwittingly led them straight into a trap. Their maps had been blank, their intelligence clear… No warning signs, no warnings at all – except that feeling in Thorin’s stomach before they left… The feeling that he had ignored… that was now tearing his stomach to shreds with angry, vengeful claws.

He had thrown up all over the floor before crawling under the bed like an animal, slinking away to die. Thorin could still taste the vomit in his mouth and there was burning bile rising up his throat, meaning every breath was full of fire.

His whole body was shaking now, a fit wracking his limbs, and his lungs were full of ash. Flashing blue specks appeared across his field of vision as the pain in his head reached a crescendo. The hand fell away, but his stubborn, traitorous mind was still clinging to consciousness… _Why can’t I die? Why can’t I just fucking die?!_

Suddenly a face appeared beneath the bed and a hand reached out… the skin was blackened and burned, the nails crumbling from its fingertips. Thorin let out a cry and shrank back against the wall, trying to retreat from the hideous hand, certain he was going to vomit again. The owner’s face was white and expressionless, just as his lieutenant’s had been when the bullet entered his forehead…

The face vanished, but Thorin’s mind was left full of swirling black and blood-red splattered images of the soldier – who had been one of his closest friends – standing in the doorway of his room.

This realisation made Thorin jolt… Which room…?

A white room… In a safer place… Where he still was now…

His heart bruising the inner wall of his chest with its manic thumping, Thorin’s eyes darted left and right. All along, he had had the vague sense that he was under a bed, but now it slowly came to him that this was his bed… in his room… in the hospital.

Swallowing, and feeling more bile scorch his throat, Thorin drew in one shuddering breath that was a little longer than the last. He could still hear the rattle of machine gun fire, but it was moving further away…

_“Thorin?”_

The hand with cracked, coal-coloured skin appeared again, and the flaking nails moved towards his arm. Thorin made a strangled noise in the back of his throat… _He’s dead… He’s dead…_ He tried desperately to dodge the repulsive vision of a hand, but he was trapped beneath the bed with no retreat available… The feelings of claustrophobia caught up with him and the air dissipated before it reached his lungs.

_“Would you stop doing that?”_

The hand disappeared again and Thorin felt his heart snag on some invisible hook. That voice he _did_ recognise. He felt his ears straining to catch more of it, desperately seeking out this source of comfort.

_“He’s still hallucinating, and we can’t do anything whilst he’s under there.”_

That voice was cold and black and unfamiliar.

_“But trying to drag him out like that isn’t going to solve anything.”_

This voice was soft and warm and safe.

Thorin waited. His heart continued its pounding and his left hand was still fiercely pressed to the side of his head where the blood dripped through his fingers.  He heard movement to his right, and then a pair of blue and red tartan pyjama bottoms appeared, sitting against his bedside table. Thorin instinctively recoiled, but no hands reached for him, no white face appeared. He studied the familiar navy blue and ruby red, the colours drawing him in, anchoring him to the present.

“Thorin… It’s Bilbo. I’m just going to sit here for a bit.”

 _Bilbo_. A vision of a short, honey-haired man with green-grey eyes flashed before him, and the past two months slowly settled back into conscious thought. Bilbo. Bilbo who lived in the room next door. Bilbo who was his friend here at the hospital.

Desperate to hear his voice again, Thorin’s mind was searching out confirmation that this was something he hadn’t imagined. Reality and shreds of nightmare had been stitched together into a horrifying tapestry right before his very eyes… He wasn’t sure he could tell the difference anymore, but if one thing could be real, he hoped it was this.

The only sound was his frantic, fluttering heartbeat and his panting breaths, and Thorin’s lips struggled around the two syllables as his throat constricted painfully… but still he managed to choke out: “ _Bilbo_.”

“I’m here,” came the gentle reply.

Thorin drew in a jagged breath, and a cry jammed in his throat. It was then that he realised he was crying. He could feel the tears on his face, dripping along with the blood. Despite the amount of heartache he had had to endure in his life-time, Thorin rarely cried… He hadn’t cried since he had arrived in this white room and he wasn’t sure why he was crying now.

“Would you like me to join you?”

His whole body going rigid, Thorin thought of the charred hand and the black and yellow fingernails… But, stealing a glance at the pyjama bottoms, he saw another hand, the skin fair and unmarked. He had a sudden desire to touch it. For the first time since the bullet, Thorin willingly – if a little hesitantly – admitted to himself that this was a moment where he needed not to be alone.

Thorin tried to respond, but the words wouldn’t come. He heard a weak growl take their place instead. A sharp pain twisted in his already aching stomach at the thought of Bilbo taking this as a declination and abandoning him to his other, terrifying visions.

“Okay, I’m going to come under now.”

Thorin’s heart jolted. By some unprecedented act of telepathy, Bilbo had understood his need. He waited, still barely able to breath, as the pyjamas shifted and Bilbo’s face appeared. The younger man silently pulled himself under the bed and crossed his legs, sitting opposite Thorin, having to hunch forward slightly less. Thorin curled his body, his posture wary as his eyes travelled over Bilbo… His face was pale, but there were no scorch marks; no scars or bullet wounds.

Opening his mouth, Thorin found a sharp breath taking the place of any words. Choking again, his lips twisted into a frustrated snarl. His hand dropped from his head and trembling fingers curled to his palms.

“Shall we sort out your breathing first?” Bilbo asked softly: his voice was measured and a little slower than usual.

In way of an appropriate response, Thorin could only let out a sharp pant.  

“We’ll count to three,” Bilbo continued. “Because no one ever gets to five.”

There was humour in his tone, and it helped to ease the tightness in Thorin’s chest.

“I’ll count and you just try and match it… This might take some time, but that’s alright, we’ll get there.”

Thorin managed to stiffly dip his chin in understanding.

Bilbo began, his voice low and melodic: “One… Two… Three… One… Two… Three…”

Thorin’s first attempts at following Bilbo’s counting were, admittedly, disastrous, and he ended up choking again, but Bilbo was smiling as he spoke, urging Thorin on. There was no judgement in his expression, only encouragement, and so Thorin persisted. His breaths started out uneven and without rhythm, but slowly they fell into line with Bilbo’s counting. Finally managing to reach two, his lungs felt fresher and emptied of ash. Thorin was learning to breathe again and the increase of oxygen seemed to be helping his body ease up and unwind from its anxiety-locked state.

Hitting three came as a shock, and Thorin saw Bilbo’s eyes light up as he took his deepest breath so far. This was more than enough encouragement, and so Thorin kept aiming for three, hitting it repeatedly.

“One… Two… Three… One –”

“Bilbo, you should be counting to five!”

It was the cold voice again, and it sounded from somewhere above the bed. Thorin started, his breath hitching as he shrank back into the wall. A scowl darkened Bilbo’s face.

“Would you excuse me for just one moment?” he asked pleasantly.

Bilbo shuffled over, sticking his head out from under the bed. “Haldir, I believe your medical expertise is most probably needed elsewhere?”

 _Haldir_. The voice belonged to one of the junior doctors: the one Thorin had threatened to strangle with his own stethoscope.

“Bilbo, you’re hardly qualified to –”

“I think you’ll find I’m more than qualified,” Bilbo replied, with an edge in his tone Thorin had never heard before.

Haldir made further attempts at protest, but Bilbo ignored him and resumed his cross-legged posture under the bed. “Sorry about that,” he said, the edge completely vanished from his voice. “Now, where were we? I believe it was ‘two’?”

Bilbo began counting again and Thorin fell into the rhythm with more ease this time.

“One… Two… Three… One…”

Thorin winced as the side of his head suddenly throbbed, and his shuddering hand returned to the hot, sticky mess by his left temple. With more air in his lungs, he swallowed and spoke over Bilbo’s counting, his voice strained: “I… I’m… bleeding…”

Bilbo stopped and studied him with an unnervingly cryptic look for a few moments, and then he produced a clean, white handkerchief from his hoodie pocket. “Here,” he said kindly, offering it to Thorin.

His hand slowly reaching out, Thorin grasped the soft, sparsely embroidered fabric and then lifted it to his head, pressing it against the wound. Bilbo was watching him with a strange expression and Thorin felt his face grow hot as he shifted self-consciously. After a few moments, he became aware that there was no blood soaking through the handkerchief and the cloth remained cool and dry beneath his fingertips… Had the bleeding finally stopped?

Carefully lowering the handkerchief, Thorin’s eyes widened. It was spotless. His gaze moved over the clean, white expanse, and the confusion sent a further spike of pain through his temples. He had felt his own blood flowing, wet and thick and boiling against his fingers… But it wasn’t real, only a traitorous act of his damaged mind. Thorin’s stomach made an ominous heaving motion and the bile rose in his throat again.

Bilbo was still watching him. Thorin returned his scrutiny, his heart thudding in his ears. “You’re… You’re not real…” he said, in a harsh whisper, unable to keep the accusation from his tone. If his mind had conjured images of the bullet and all it left behind, it could just as easily gift him Bilbo as another dirty trick…

“You’re… not really here,” Thorin spluttered, the panic rising within him now, threatening to pull him under again.

“I am here,” Bilbo replied evenly, holding Thorin’s gaze, his green-grey eyes shining. “Why don’t you feel my pulse…? It’ll help.”

Bilbo slowly drew up his grey sleeve, offering him his pale wrist. Thorin stared at him, trying to process this unexpected request. There had been hints of wisdom, experience, in Bilbo’s voice as he spoke… it made Thorin want to trust him. His movements were guarded, but he still leaned forward and very carefully laid two fingers against Bilbo’s wrist.

“I… I can’t…feel…” Thorin stammered, his voice rising.

“Here.” Bilbo’s other hand came to rest over Thorin’s fingers, guiding them to the side, gently pushing them into his skin.

Bilbo’s pulse was thrumming beneath Thorin’s fingertips. Thorin let out the breath he hadn’t realised he had been holding and stared at his and Bilbo’s joined hands, focusing on the quivering, fast-paced pulse that showed Bilbo’s heart was beating. Thorin might not trust his eyes, but he could trust this… and it meant that he wasn’t alone.

Bilbo’s hand was soft and warm over his, his wrist equally soft beneath it, and Thorin suddenly realised that this was the first time he had willingly touched someone – other than his niece or nephew – since the bullet. The revelation crashed over him with unexpected force and, along with the fleeting feelings of triumph, came every other emotion he had experienced in the past two months.

This one moment of joy had become a doorway to everything he had ever felt, and these emotions washed ceaselessly over him until there was nothing left but utter exhaustion… Thorin was tired. He was tired of being this damaged, wreck of man, tired of not being able to sleep, tired of being constantly watched over, tired of having his life dictated to him by others who thought they knew better.

He wished he could rewind the past two months. He saw himself shuffling backwards out of the hospital and onto the plane, which flew against the wind back to Afghanistan. He saw the bullet retreating into the gun, and he was leading his men to the barracks where the patrol was re-routed… But this was all nothing more than fantasy. The guilt settled like poisonous, heavy silt at the bottom of his stomach.

Thorin couldn’t change a thing, and so he was left in this moment, cowering beneath his bed, shaking like a child, afraid of the visions that trapped him inside his own head.

The unwanted tears returned, blurring Thorin’s vision, making his eyes and raw cheeks sting. He choked back a sob so that it became a frustrated snarl, and once again, everything he had ever felt or not felt clashed together in his mind, sending terrible tremors ripping through the rest of his body.

“Thorin,” Bilbo murmured, his fingers flexing over Thorin’s hand.

Thorin let out a growl, staring furiously into his lap. “I wish the bullet had killed me.”

He expected pity, or a long list of reasons why his life was worth living. He didn’t expect Bilbo’s answer: “I know.”

Lifting his eyes to meet Bilbo’s, Thorin furrowed his brow in confusion.

“I know,” Bilbo repeated. He moved his hand from Thorin’s so that he could slowly pull the sleeve of his hoodie further up his arm.

Thorin’s stomach sank as he stared at Bilbo’s wrist. It didn’t bear the thin, horizontal stripes of self-harm on which he had once been fixated, but there was one, thick, jagged line running vertically towards his fingertips. It was the mark of someone who had been intent on oblivion.

Thorin’s hand fell away, revealing the pointed tip of the scar… It had been beneath his fingers all along, but Thorin hadn’t noticed it. When he reached for Bilbo’s wrist, he had seen only what he wanted to see: a Bilbo who was whole and unmarked and his opposite.

“I…” Thorin stopped: he had nothing to say. They fell into silence and Thorin’s eyes returned to his lap. Knowing what Bilbo had tried to do, what he must have experienced to get to that point, made something inside his chest wither… But there was also the seemingly inappropriate feeling of relief: relief that someone else understood how he felt. And that this someone else was Bilbo.

He wasn’t there to talk him round, to tell him everything was going to be alright, or that this damage wasn’t irreparable. Bilbo was simply there to share in his pain. And so they sat together, this sense of _knowing_ hovering between them in the quiet beneath the bed… and as Thorin tried to process the fact that a few minutes ago he had touched Bilbo for the very first time, he realised he very much had a desire to reach out to Bilbo’s wrist again.

Thorin wasn’t sure how long they had been sitting there when another familiar voice sounded from the corner of the room. Eyes darting to his right, Thorin stiffened as he watched Dr. Grey crouch down and get onto his knees before shuffling towards the bed.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” Dr. Grey said, his voice low and calm as he peered at Thorin and Bilbo with light blue eyes.

Thorin inched back against the wall, but still looked to Bilbo, as if begging him for protection. Dr. Grey’s gaze travelled over him, the way Dis’ did when she visited, and he was sure he was being more than thoroughly assessed.

“I’m afraid I’m not as nimble as Bilbo here, so I shan’t be joining you” Dr. Grey continued, with a hint of amusement. “But take as much time as you need, Thorin. There will be tea and biscuits waiting when you’re ready to venture out.”

Thorin stared at the doctor, his posture rigid, trying to figure out if this was some kind of elaborate ruse before he stuck a needle in his arm.

“Fox’s Viennese, I hope, Gandalf,” Bilbo commented airily. “None of that Rich Tea rubbish.”

“Of course, my dear Bilbo,” Dr. Grey replied, with a wry smile. “The board greatly enjoyed your letter on the state of the hospital’s biscuit provision, by the way.”

“Good, it took me about two weeks to draft that,” came Bilbo’s smug response.

Thorin looked from Dr. Grey to Bilbo, completely thrown by this absurd conversation that seemed somehow very out of place, considering the circumstances.

Dr. Grey straightened up and leant over to retrieve something from the bedside table. “In the meantime, Thorin…” The doctor reappeared and pushed a plastic cup full of water under the bed towards him. “I do suggest that you drink some water; emptying your stomach can’t have been pleasant.”

Thorin shot the cup an accusatory glower, which was then turned on Dr. Grey.

“I’ll come back and see you in a little while,” Dr. Grey said, clearly unaffected by the black look in Thorin’s eyes. “But, again, take your time.”

With that, Dr. Grey pulled himself to his feet, muttering about his creaking knees. Thorin watched the doctor’s black brogues move away from the bed, and Haldir’s voice could be heard from the doorway.

“… But Dr. Grey, he needs haloperidol… diazepam… We can’t just _leave him under there_!”

Dr. Grey’s response was too quiet for Thorin to make out, but Haldir didn’t speak again, and so Thorin guessed he must have put the junior doctor in his place. Still, Thorin thought it was odd that he hadn’t been forcibly medicated… He studied the plastic cup waiting by his knee with a frown.

“They’ve put something in it,” he stated, glancing at Bilbo.

“Gandalf wouldn’t do that,” Bilbo answered patiently. “He would never trick his patients into taking medication.”

Thorin considered this, but then the broken, distrustful part of his mind supplied the idea that Bilbo might be in on the plan. He and Dr. Grey – Bilbo was the only patient he’d heard refer to the doctor by his first name – acted like old friends. Was it possible the older man had put Bilbo up to this?

Swallowing, Thorin winced at the burn in his throat, but he continued to study the water with suspicion.

“Okay,” Bilbo said carefully. He reached out and picked up the cup. Bringing it to his lips, he took a couple of gulps. “Just water,” he confirmed. “Please, Thorin… I know your throat must be hurting.”

There was such pain in Bilbo’s expression that Thorin wasn’t sure whether he found himself holding out his hand to ease his own discomfort or Bilbo’s, but still he accepted the water. In another act of communion, he drank from the opposite side of the cup. The water was cool and unbelievably soothing as it ran down his throat. Draining the cup, Thorin set it back on the floor, self-consciously wiping a few drops of water from his beard.

He studied Bilbo again, and before he could stop himself, he was blurting out: “I don’t understand you.”

It was expected that after this latest attack his filter – which hadn’t been the best before the bullet – wasn’t yet operational. He had been wondering at Bilbo’s calm expression, his effortless dealing with the situation… and the dark pink scar cutting down his wrist. In his vulnerable state, Thorin had unintentionally voiced his frustrations.

Bilbo considered Thorin for a long time, the look in his eyes pensive, if a little sad, and Thorin was worried that he had well and truly fucked-up… that Bilbo was going to leave him alone under the bed.

Finally, Bilbo let out a soft sigh. “I try to help other people deal with their problems so that I don’t have to face dealing with my own.”

The way Bilbo spoke, it sounded like he was reeling off a diagnosis… Thorin reminded himself that, in all likelihood, he probably was. It came to him then that Bilbo was a remover of obstacles: as Bilbo had just explained, he focused on removing the objects in the paths of those around him so that he didn’t have to think about the obstacles that lay at his own feet.

For the first time since they’d met, Thorin witnessed Bilbo looking uncomfortable. He was hardly an expert at gauging other people’s emotions, but he knew the younger man wasn’t in the mood to talk about it. Today, Bilbo, who was by definition a fortress and an absolute enigma, had given Thorin a clue to himself by showing him his wrist... Thorin appreciated how difficult it must have been for him to take this step, to make himself vulnerable to his scrutiny. And so, in a surprise reversal of roles, Thorin attempted to diffuse the situation with humour.

“Have you thought about applying for a job here?”

This earned a smile from Bilbo, and Thorin’s heart wriggled in his chest.

“I’ve tried, but they told me they don’t have any vacancies until October.”

Thorin and Bilbo shared a chuckle, and then silence returned. They sat together for a long time, every so often catching each other’s eye. At Bilbo’s prompting, Thorin used the discarded handkerchief to wipe his face and neck. It was then returned to Bilbo’s pocket. Afterwards, Thorin waited for Bilbo to suggest they move, but he never did.

“My back’s starting to hurt,” Thorin said finally.

Bilbo grinned. “Yes, I’m not sure I can feel my feet anymore… Shall we?”

Thorin’s eyes moved to survey what he could see of his room. Images of the lieutenant standing in the doorway suddenly sparked before his eyes, and he wrapped an arm around his legs, feeling his heart pounding into his knees.

“I’ll go first,” Bilbo said gently.

Thorin looked to Bilbo, managing a nod. Uncrossing his legs, Bilbo slid out from under the bed. He got to his feet and then bent down to speak to Thorin.

“The coast is clear.”

Drawing in a deep, shuddering breath, Thorin shifted forward. Without any noticeable grace, he crawled out from the bed on his hands and knees, every muscle in his body aching and sore from sitting hunched over for so long. Squinting against the white light of his room, Thorin looked up and Bilbo offered him his hand. Taking it, he let Bilbo pull him to his feet.

Straightening up, Thorin steadied himself against his bed, unnervingly aware of the warmth left against his palm by Bilbo’s hand. He watched as Bilbo made a beeline for the tray of biscuits set out on the coffee table, unable to stop himself smiling at the pleased humming sounds Bilbo was making.

Thorin’s eyes were scanning the recently mopped floor when Dr. Grey appeared in the doorway, and he immediately clocked the small plastic pot in the doctor’s hand.

“Ah, excellent,” Dr. Grey smiled, then gestured to the bed. “Why don’t you have a seat, Thorin?”

Thorin didn’t move. “You need to give me something?” he asked quietly, eyeing the pot. He wasn’t going to let the doctor speak in riddles.

“Yes. Just a –”

“I don’t want to sleep.”

It was sleep that caused this whole sorry mess. Thorin rarely slept during the day because when he did, his dreams were always far more lucid and terrifying than those he had during the night. Today he had let his exhaustion get the better of him, and he had dreamt about the ambush, the bullet… When he woke up shouting, clutching his head, his lieutenant had been standing in the doorway of his hospital room as the attack continued around him.

“This is diazepam, and it won’t make you lose consciousness,” Dr. Grey said, moving to the opposite side of the bed. “It will only calm you down and help with the other physical symptoms of your anxiety.”

Thorin cast a glance at Bilbo, who had appeared at his side with the biscuits. Having Bilbo next to him helped, and so Thorin nodded. He pulled himself up onto the bed and swung his legs after him. He held out his hand for the plastic pot and inspected the single blue pill sitting at the bottom of it.

“Want a biscuit first?” Bilbo asked, hovering the tray by Thorin’s free hand.

Thorin’s eyes flitted to Bilbo. “I wouldn’t want to deprive you.”

“You don’t know what you’re missing,” Bilbo replied, his mouth full of Fox’s Viennese fingers. Thorin was once again left confounded but somewhat amused at the extent of Bilbo’s love of food.

Letting out a huffed breath, Thorin tipped back the pot and dry-swallowed the pill, wincing as it slipped down his scorched throat. Dr. Grey poured him another cup of water and set it down on the table by his side. He then turned to Thorin, his expression a non-verbal cue. Trying not to roll his eyes, Thorin opened his mouth and lifted his tongue.  

 Dr. Grey gave a nod of approval. “Right, I’ll check back in half an hour.”

Thorin nodded, leaning back into his pillows. The doctor only smiled, and then left without another word. Attempting to stretch out his aching muscles, Thorin’s eyes fluttered shut. He was surprised Dr. Grey had spared him the interrogation, but he knew it would come eventually. His next session was going to be hell. This thought made Thorin grimace as he reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“Tea?”

Thorin opened his eyes and looked to Bilbo, standing dutifully at his side. “It tastes like canal water,” he said, scowling at the decaffeinated tea on the table behind Bilbo. For someone who preached ‘tea and sympathy’ at a psychiatric level, Dr. Grey really did have a disregard for quality hot beverages.

“Yes,” Bilbo agreed, lowering himself into the chair at Thorin’s bedside.

Thorin became aware of the tension Bilbo seemed to be emanating. He wondered if this is what he looked like when he came to Bilbo’s room the morning after his attack.

“Can I get you anything?” Bilbo asked, shifting in his chair.

Thorin thought for a moment, feeling the diazepam begin to slow his mind as its haze crept through his body. “I just want a fucking decent cup of coffee,” he said finally. Thorin wanted a lot of things, but this seemed like the simplest and most attainable.

Bilbo smiled at this, and then his expression became serious as he inspected the tray of biscuits in his lap. Thorin tried not to stare at him as he was clearly chasing a train of thought, but the small crinkle between his brows was distracting. After a few long moments, Bilbo looked up.

“I know we both failed spectacularly at our first attempts… but I will get you that decent cup of coffee,” he said slowly, before leaning closer to Thorin and lowering his voice. “I’m going to break us out of here.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The response to Chapter 5 has absolutely blown me away! Can I just thank you all for your wonderful feedback, your kudos and bookmarks, and for subscribing to this story. I’ve been going to work with a spring in my step and honestly, all these positive comments have simply made my month, so thank you all again for letting me know your thoughts on this fic!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I thought it was about time I penned Chapter 7… And it’s about time Bilbo did some burgling!

Thorin’s slightly glazed blue eyes followed the thin, spidery line of the crack that slit the ceiling above his head. It was grey and endless, and branched out like veins on the pale skin of a wrist. He was sure he had been staring at it for quite some time, but his mind seemed locked on it and he was unable to look away… It was comforting, almost, fixating on this one grey line. His whole body felt whale-heavy. He was familiar with the sensation of falling in dreams, and this felt very much like a slowed-down version where he was sinking into his mattress at a snail’s pace.

Something unpleasant had happened that morning. Thorin couldn’t quite pin-point what it was, but he was sure it was similar to the events of yesterday afternoon, though somehow less terrifying. They had given him another pill to help, and he had swallowed it dutifully as he always did. Thorin’s gaze moved to where the ceiling crack faded into white oblivion just above the door. He was sure he was forgetting something… Something important that was happening today, but the thought was eluding him. Like chasing laughing children wanting to avoid bath-time, Thorin’s thoughts remained just out of his reach, taunting him with the knowledge that he was a tired old man who couldn’t keep up…

“Uncle?”

Eyes moving down to the doorway, Thorin found his niece standing there and he heard a distinctive thud in his mind. It kicked up the dust and dispersed some of the fog that had settled there. Fili… Fili was here earlier than usual… because she was on study-leave… and she had her History exam this morning. Relieved at being able to form a coherent thought, Thorin managed a smile. It then occurred to him that he was sprawled in his bed under a thick blanket, not waiting in a chair by the window as was their usual routine.

“Sorry,” Thorin murmured, his mouth feeling as though it was filled with cotton wool. He tried to rise onto his elbows, but his body was made of stone and an elbow slipped against the soft sheets, sending him onto his back once more.

Letting out a low groan, Thorin became very still. He knew he should be mortified, with Fili seeing him like this, but somehow his drugged state had also taken away the ability to feel embarrassment… He supposed he shouldn’t complain about that.

“It’s okay,” came Fili’s gentle voice. “Radagast said you’d be a little, er, groggy.”

Thorin lifted his head and peered across at Fili. He’d heard something unusual in her tone… Studying her now, he saw there was some strain in her usually bright smile and her cheeks seemed a little pale.

When Thorin didn’t comment, Fili’s posture shifted as she clutched at her rucksack and turned towards the door. “I can go if you…”

She trailed off before Thorin could interrupt. He knew he wasn’t particularly good at reading people, but he could tell that Fili was upset. Some long unused instincts stirred within his chest, tugging at something buried there. Thorin attempted to rise from the bed, pushing up with his hands, but his body once again betrayed him and he slipped back against his pillows.

“It’s okay,” he said, his tongue still thick in his mouth. “You don’t have to go.”

Fili was watching him carefully, clearly waiting for her uncle to suggest her next move. Thorin forced his thoughts to pick up the pace, urging them to a lolloping but speedy stumble… What would a normal uncle do if he knew his niece was upset? He had achieved a strange sense of normality before when Kili came to visit; he had successfully performed the role of ‘unscarred uncle’.

Fili was turning herself towards the door again when Thorin shuffled over in the bed, heavy-handedly patting the space at his side. He waited for Fili to raise an eyebrow, to take a step back, but instead a genuine smile appeared without the previous strain.

“You don’t mind?” she asked, her trademark wariness appearing.

Thorin appreciated the fact that Fili never failed to ask permission to enter his personal space. He shook his head and shuffled over a little further to underscore his acquiescence. Fili dropped her rucksack by her usual chair and then came to perch on the bed. She pulled off one brown leather boot and then the other. Thorin watched her movements with concern. He could see now from the redness of her eyes that she had been crying.

Hoisting herself onto the bed, Fili slowly lifted her legs up and then lay back, parallel to Thorin. He threw the dark blue, woollen blanket over her and she tucked it around herself. The blanket was his first gift from Dis when he arrived back in the UK. Thorin didn’t think of himself as a particularly sentimental person, but the wool smelled of the North, of home, and he hoped it might help Fili now.

“These beds are pretty comfy,” Fili commented, after several long moments of silence. “I might see if they’ve got any spare rooms going tonight.”

Thorin knew his niece had attempted to keep her tone light, but there was something darker lurking behind it… Like the idea that Fili might actually want to commit herself to the ward. He waited for her to speak again, and his eyes returned to the rain-coloured cracks in the ceiling that appeared more in focus now that the medication in his system seemed to be wearing off.

“I think I failed my History exam.”

Thorin shifted his head to look at Fili. She was staring at the ceiling and her light blue eyes were shining. His stomach clenching, Thorin desperately sought out a suitable response… But he was no good at this: helping people, cheering them up, was all completely beyond him. He suddenly realised he was experiencing the same feelings of uselessness as when he had been called to Bilbo’s room after that awful night. The screams rang in his ears once again.

“You could answer every question when we revised together,” Thorin said tentatively.

“Curveball questions,” came Fili’s curt response. “And my teacher said they’d never ask us about Pretenders, so I didn’t do any extra research on them… And then Question 3 happened… And I need at least a ‘B’ on this paper to have a shot at getting into Birmingham.”

With every word another brick seemed to be slipped into the wall building between Thorin and Fili. Thorin was acutely aware of the fact that he didn’t understand most of what Fili had just said… and that he therefore had no answers for her, no suitable words of comfort. He then found himself wishing that Bilbo would appear in the doorway. Bilbo who was a wonderful remover of obstacles… He would know what to say.

“I’m sorry,” Fili murmured meekly. “I’m sorry, Uncle, I didn’t mean to… I just… I know you have enough going on without me coming in and…”

Fili seemed unable to finish any of her sentences, and that was something with which Thorin could truly sympathise. “It’s okay,” he said quietly.

Reaching up to push her building tears away with her thumbs, Fili said: “I’m just going to stop talking.”

This declaration pushed Thorin’s thoughts onto the idea of ‘not talking’, and how this was his go-to response with the majority of things in his life at the moment. Much to Dr.Grey’s chagrin, it was his most frequent reaction in their sessions. Fili needed to talk about her exam as it was obviously bothering her… and somewhere in the back of Thorin’s mind came the admission that he needed to talk about the fact that he had had two panic attacks in less than twenty-four hours, and he was worried he was getting worse again.

“I brought this in for you.”

Thorin’s thoughts were dragged from the darker corners of his consciousness back to the present moment. He turned to see Fili dig something out from under the blanket and she opened her hand to reveal a very square and scuffed silver iPod.

“I found it at the back of my desk drawer when I was looking for last year’s study notes,” Fili explained, and already her voice had regained its brightness. “I downloaded some music for you… Everything Queen have ever released, of course, and Freddie’s solo stuff too… Oh, and some of my music I thought you might like.”

A change had completely come over Fili, and Thorin thought back to one of Dis’ visits where she had spoken about only needing a Queen song to make everything better. Maybe it was no longer a long-term solution, but if it could help cheer Fili up, even for a little while, it might be worth a try.

“Would you like to listen to something?” Thorin asked carefully.

“Sure,” Fili grinned, handing him one earphone. “What are you thinking?”

With some difficulty, due to his fingers feeling and moving like uncooked sausages, Thorin slotted the earphone in place. “Something upbeat?” he said wryly.

“Agreed,” Fili said, scrolling through the list of tracks. “Ah, this is a classic.”

Thorin knew the song within the first few notes of the synthesizer and then Roger Taylor started on the drums. ‘I Want to Break Free’ poured out of the earphone and Thorin couldn’t help but smile across at Fili. “Good choice,” he said, with a nod of approval. Fili smiled back, before her eyes returned to the ceiling. Thorin mimicked her and they lapsed into comfortable silence. Neither of them could speak about what was troubling them, but maybe just being there together was enough for now, and the talking would happen eventually. Thorin felt a mirror line rising between them, but it was not like the brick wall from earlier: it was something that could be reached across.

As the song reached its second chorus, a recent memory stirred in Thorin’s mind… It was somehow linked to the unpleasant events of yesterday but mingled with the drugged haze that followed… a promise of some sort… something about breaking free… But maybe he was just getting confused.

 

…

 

“You were pretty far gone when I said it; I thought you wouldn’t remember,” Bilbo replied, grinning across the table at Thorin.

Three panic-attack free days after Fili’s visit, Thorin had finally managed to piece enough of the drug-muddied memory together to ask Bilbo about what ‘breaking free’ they were going to be doing.

“So you were joking?” Thorin asked, unnerved by the spark in Bilbo’s green-grey eyes. Thorin was used to feeling that Bilbo knew something he didn’t, but this seemed a little different. “You haven’t mentioned it since…”

“No,” Bilbo conceded, before adding: “I’ve been gathering intel.”

Thorin’s heart smacked into his ribs. “What?”

Bilbo glanced behind at the clock above Thorin’s door. “Wait just one moment.”

As if on cue, Radagast snuck his head around the door. Although his greying beard had become far more tangled and wild as of late, his ridiculous smile was still visible through the wiry hairs.

“Everything alright, chaps?” the nurse asked, his dark eyes moving between them. “Can I get you anything?”

“We’re fine, thanks, Radagast,” Bilbo answered, returning Radagast’s smile.

Thorin marvelled at the fact that while Bilbo’s tone was cheerful and polite, his expression and smile simultaneously said: ‘Bugger off, we’re busy’. Thorin wished he could master that duality, and not just be stuck with the murderous glares he reserved for the nurse.

Radagast nodded and after overstaying his welcome for another few seconds, disappeared back into the corridor. As Thorin’s eyes moved to the clock, it occurred to him that though the nurses checked in at regular intervals, these checks became much more frequent whenever he and Bilbo were in each other’s rooms… something which Bilbo had obviously picked up on long ago. He also seemed to have memorised the nurses’ schedules.

It was the rustling of paper that drew Thorin’s eyes back to Bilbo and he watched as the younger man pulled a wad of folded white paper from the inside pocket of his grey hoodie. He held it out to Thorin, who accepted it with a raised eyebrow. “What are these?”

“Battle plans,” Bilbo replied carefully, lowering his voice.

Thorin felt his heart begin to hammer and there was a slight tremble in his fingers as he opened up the pieces of paper and smoothed them out on the coffee table in front of him. The first paper held some sort of labelled, angular diagram with arrows showing a path across it. The other two sheets were covered in columns of scribbles that were not in the neat handwriting Thorin had read in Bilbo’s copy of _Othello_. He stared at the miniscule scrawls, trying discern any legible letters, but it was making his eyes hurt.

“I can’t read this,” Thorin whispered.

“Good,” came Bilbo’s somewhat satisfied reply.

It came to Thorin then that this was the point: only Bilbo could read what was written on the pages, therefore if they fell into the wrong hands, they would be useless. His gaze returning to the first sheet, Thorin studied the annotated drawing that covered the whole page… It was strangely familiar.

“Wait,” Thorin breathed. “This is the hospital… This is our ward, our rooms…”

Lifting his eyes from the paper, Thorin found Bilbo smiling at him.

“You mean…? You’re literally going to break us out of here…?”

Bilbo’s quick gesture signalled for him to lower his voice. “Sorry,” he murmured, looking contrite.

“Planning military operations, it’s what I do best,” Bilbo grinned. “Well, apart from my first escape attempt here… I quite want a chance to improve on that.”

“So… When you said ‘gathering intel’,” Thorin asked slowly.

“I did a bit of surveillance,” Bilbo replied, indicating the sheet beneath the diagram. “Logged the times of our obs and medication, took into account visiting hours and the staff rotas. There are still a few things I need to, er, _acquire_ , but our distraction is sorted.”

Thorin’s eyebrow was raised again. “Distraction?”

“A very basic tactic, I know,” Bilbo said, clearly enjoying being cryptic. “But it can be suitably effective when done properly.”

Thorin studied the sheets in front of him, his eyes trailing the endless lines of black scribbles. He wondered then why Bilbo was doing all this… Seen as they were talking in military terms, Thorin couldn’t help but question Bilbo’s motives, although he knew they would be nothing but well-intentioned. Something warm stirred inside his chest when he thought about how much effort and time Bilbo was putting into this plan.

Feeling Bilbo’s eyes on him, Thorin coughed a little to clear his throat. “So, what are our mission objectives?” he asked, unable to keep the smile from his lips.

“To get you a fucking decent cup of coffee,” Bilbo whispered, parroting Thorin’s words from a few days ago back at him, and they both chuckled. “Here, you’ll like this.”

Bilbo produced a black biro from his hoodie’s inside pocket and pulled the page that held the diagram towards him across the table. Finding space, he wrote something out in block capitals and then turned the page back to face Thorin.

Thorin’s eyes ran over the title: ‘ _OPERATION ESPRESSO_ ’. 

“Really?” Thorin snorted.

“Every good operation needs a catchy name,” Bilbo insisted, pretending to look hurt.

“Right, sorry,” Thorin replied, feeling an unexpected giddiness rising up from his stomach. “But… We’re actually going to do this…? This is actually happening?”

Bilbo quickly scribbled out ‘OPERATION ESPRESSO’ so that it was no longer legible and then folded the pieces of paper back into a wad.

“Yes,” he said, stashing the papers inside his hoodie. “And it’s happening tomorrow.”

 

…

 

Glancing at the clock again, Thorin swallowed the bile that had slowly been making its way up his throat. It wasn’t unusual for him and Bilbo to be the last inpatients to enter the dayroom, but Thorin was still convinced the nurses must suspect something.

Now that ‘Operation Espresso’ was about to become a reality, and was no longer just a message scrawled on a piece of paper, Thorin began to feel the weight of it all pressing down on his chest. The giddiness and excitement of yesterday afternoon was fading, leaving behind vast amounts of space for the suffocating anxiety that was trying to make Thorin curl in on himself.

The last military operation Thorin had been involved in had burned its brand into the side of his head and cost him his sanity… and his friends. Thorin’s shivering fingers traced the tip of the scar over his temple. Was it really going to be different this time? Or was everything going to go wrong once again?

“Hey.”

A gentle voice pulled Thorin from the dark and his hand dropped to his side. Bilbo was studying him with a soft smile.

“We don’t have to go through with this, if you don’t want to,” he said quietly, turning his knees away from the door.

Thorin’s eyes fell into his lap as the argument with himself began again, his knocking heartbeat forming a tense soundtrack as his thoughts rocked back and forth. He knew Bilbo had tailored the plan to account for all their accumulated triggers, and they would always be able to get help if they needed it, but even Bilbo had admitted that this outing couldn’t have a trigger-free guarantee. If something awful happened to either of them, there may be no coming back from it.

Yet, this was an opportunity Thorin couldn’t bear to pass up. If they were successful, it would mean fresh air… freedom… a sense of normality… and caffeine. Also, Thorin couldn’t deny the attraction of spending the time with Bilbo. He wasn’t sure why, but the fact that he would be re-entering the world outside of the hospital with Bilbo, and only Bilbo, made him determined to damn the triggers, and damn his nightmares… This was something he wanted to do. And, besides, he knew Bilbo needed this just as much as he did.

“I’m fine,” Thorin said, the answer sounding a little gruff. “Honestly,” he added, hoping this was more convincing.

Bilbo grinned. “Okay… Get ready.”

They both rose to their feet, and Bilbo turned, moving to stand next to Thorin. They watched the nurses’ station, where two blue-scrubbed nurses were studying a computer screen. There were no other staff in this section of the ward: everyone else was either in the dayroom or on their break. The junior doctors were needed to supervise the dayroom, and all the patients had arrived there bar Bilbo and Thorin.

Thorin’s eyes slipped to Bilbo, but he was still intently watching the nurses’ station. His heartbeat moving to his ears, Thorin flexed his fingers… Any second now.

A scream, followed by shouting.

As Ori’s high-pitched wails sounded down the corridor, the nurses jumped away from the computer and bolted out of the station, rushing to his aid as he began to screech a stream of incomprehensible words at the top of his lungs.

“Go.”

The word came from Bilbo with such authority that Thorin found himself moving forward automatically. With Bilbo in front, Thorin followed him as they darted across the ward, rushing past the nurses’ station and several patients’ empty rooms until they reached the side-door that opened onto the stairs only used by staff. In a flash, Bilbo had produced a card as if from thin air and pressed it against the lock. With a soft beep, the door swung open and then they were galloping down the stairs two at a time.

“We need to be quick, CCTV will have caught that,” Bilbo said, sounding breathless but full of energy.

Thorin nodded, though he knew Bilbo couldn’t see it. The adrenaline rush was immense as he pounded down the third flight of stairs. He had forgotten what it was like to feel exhilarated, to even move this fast, and he suddenly realised he couldn’t stop smiling.

Reaching the ground floor, Bilbo turned into a stairwell and gestured for Thorin to join him. Coming to a stop, Thorin felt his muscles begin to flare up in protest to his quick movements and an ache started creeping up his calves, but he ignored it. He drew in a deep, shuddering breath to try and stop himself from wheezing.

“This is a camera blind-spot,” Bilbo explained, as he began rooting through what looked like black bin bags that were piled against the wall. “Ah.” He pulled open a bag. “I paid the new porter to stash some things for us… It’s amazing what teenagers will do for money.”

Thorin couldn’t help it: he smirked.

“I could have phrased that better,” Bilbo said, with an endearing groan.

Thorin was trying to figure out where Bilbo had found the money to pay the amenable porter when a pair of blue scrubs, along with two pairs of white Nike trainers, was pulled from the bag.

“One size fits all,” Bilbo said, setting the trainers on the floor and then holding the scrubs out to Thorin. “I had the porter steal them from the laundry.”

“This is what you meant by disguise?” Thorin asked, raising an eyebrow, wondering where the new footwear had been acquired.

“The best one there is,” Bilbo replied, and he was fiddling with the staff card that was attached to a pair of keys and a purple lanyard with the hospital logo printed across it.

“And where did you get that?”

“I borrowed it,” came Bilbo’s sly response as he handed it over.

Thorin almost did a double-take when he saw the picture on the left-hand side of the card. Beneath it was printed the name: DR. HALDIR MARCH.

“You stole Haldir’s ID?” Thorin asked, suitably impressed.

“Borrowed,” Bilbo corrected. “And just in case we need it…” He produced a sleek black iPhone from his hoodie pocket.

“You _borrowed_ his phone as well?” Thorin asked, with a snort. Oh, Haldir was going to be _so_ pissed off when he realised.

Thorin was beginning to consider why Bilbo had targeted Haldir with his thievery, and whether this was actually some sort of vendetta, when Bilbo suddenly unzipped his hoodie and shrugged it off.

“Right, we need to get moving. You can wear the scrub top over your own but you’ll need to change out of your sweatpants.”

Thorin froze as Bilbo pulled the blue scrub top on over his head. Feelings of self-consciousness suddenly rooted him to the spot and there was colour creeping into his cheeks. He had dressed and undressed in front of other men, in barracks, in tents, in the desert, in shell craters, for the entirety of his military career… But this felt different somehow.

“I promise I won’t look,” Bilbo said, and Thorin sensed he was trying to keep his voice even. “I’ll be changing out of my pyjamas too… But we do really need to get going, time is of the essence and all that.”

Before Thorin could reply, Bilbo had turned his back to him and was unfolding the blue scrub bottoms. Hastily shuffling around, Thorin threw the scrub top on over his white t-shirt and pulled down his sweatpants, feeling his cheeks burning… Honestly, when had he become so bloody modest? And then he found himself wondering whether Bilbo wore underwear with his pyjama bottoms and… He needed to snap out of this. What on earth was wrong with him?

Straightening up, Thorin tied the white cords to make the scrubs tighter around his middle. He found the trainers at his side and quickly kicked off his slippers and stepped into them. He knew he shouldn’t be surprised by now that they were the perfect fit… But how had Bilbo figured out his shoe-size? Thorin studiously stared at the wall, not daring to turn around.

“All sorted?” Bilbo asked cheerfully.

Thorin slowly moved to face Bilbo, who was now fully scrubbed-up with Haldir’s iPhone in his front pocket and the lanyard in his hand. He looked… very different. It was a little unsettling to see Bilbo out of his Birmingham hoodie. One glance down confirmed that Bilbo was wearing a long-sleeved top under his scrubs that covered the deep pink scar on his right wrist.

“I’ll just store these away,” Bilbo said, reaching down to retrieve Thorin’s sweatpants that were lying crumpled on the floor. He neatly folded them and then placed them in a black bag behind him. Thorin felt the burn of embarrassment spread to the back of his neck.

“Right, two things, then we’re off.”

Bilbo produced a small pair of surgical scissors from the bag and for some reason an icy feeling sliced across Thorin’s stomach.

“To cut off our hospital bracelets,” he explained, clearly seeing Thorin’s look of alarm.

Thorin gathered that Bilbo had stolen these as well, and on a secure psychiatric ward, they wouldn’t have been easy to come by. Bilbo quickly and efficiently snipped off his own bracelet, letting it land in the bag, and then turned to Thorin. Thorin offered his arm and then his own bracelet was gone.

“And finally…” Bilbo turned back to Thorin and presented him with a grey beanie hat. “Just to help us blend in,” he murmured, and Thorin could hear the note of regret in his voice.

He knew the hat was needed to cover his scar. A member of staff with a head wound like that would give them away easily… Bilbo was also clearly aware that he would feel self-conscious, entering the real world bearing such a mark from a past life. Still, Thorin eyed the beanie with distaste. “I am about twenty years too old for that hat.”

Bilbo only smiled and nudged the beanie further towards Thorin.

His shoulders sinking, Thorin accepted the uncomfortably fashionable headwear and pulled it on, ensuring it fully covered his scar. He looked up to find Bilbo was staring at him with a strange look he couldn’t place.

“It suits you,” Bilbo commented, his voice full of genuine admiration… and the colour was back in Thorin’s cheeks. “Now, coffee?”

Thorin nodded stiffly, staring at the door he knew led back onto the ground floor of the hospital. It was mainly a waiting room for outpatients and staff from their ward were rarely present there, but still Thorin felt the anxiety wrap its fingers around his lungs. For the first time since they’d left his room, Thorin found himself counting… _One… Two… Three… One… Two… Three… Four…_

“Keep counting,” Bilbo said gently, demonstrating his somewhat disturbing telepathic abilities. “Just keep counting, and before you know it, we’ll be outside.”

After another nod, Bilbo pressed Haldir’s ID card to the door in front of them and they stepped out into the white corridor. _One… Two… Three…_

They were avoiding the main reception area and exiting via a quieter hallway. Thorin followed Bilbo, falling into step by his side, trying to keep his head up. _One… Two… Three… Four…_

A nurse passed without looking at them, but Thorin felt his stomach shrivel until she was well and truly gone from their sights. _One… Two… Three…_

They reached the end of the corridor and Bilbo once again flashed Haldir’s card, and then there was grey pavement beneath Thorin’s feet as the door shut behind them. _One… Two… Three… Four… Five…_

Squinting against the bright sunlight, Thorin felt a warm breeze brush against his face. It was the height of British summertime and Thorin could do nothing but breathe in the clean, fresh air that had no lingering sting of disinfectant. Staring up and avoiding the sun, Thorin’s eyes widened. “The sky…”

“It’s very blue, isn’t it?” Bilbo chuckled. He had been watching Thorin’s awe with an amused smile.

Thorin felt the second surge of adrenaline coursing through him and giddiness was bubbling in the pit of his stomach. He drew in another deep breath, wondering why he felt like laughing.

“Come on, let’s be having you,” Bilbo said, his accent almost taking on a Yorkshire twang. His hand hovered over Thorin’s arm as he steered him further into the street. “And let’s hope no one has a medical emergency as we walk past.”

They made the short walk down the road in silence. Thorin’s eyes darted to and fro, making awkward contact with strangers more than once… But most seemed to only smile in return and no one was giving them a particularly wide berth. The scrubs seemed to give them some esteem in the eyes of the public and so no one bothered them as they walked away from the hospital.

It was strange being outside again and Thorin couldn’t help but feel very unprotected and vulnerable. He stuck close to Bilbo’s side, his arm frequently knocking against the younger man’s, but Bilbo didn’t seem to mind being used as a security blanket. Walking in proper shoes was also a disconcerting experience and Thorin was quite thankful that Bilbo didn’t react when he tripped a couple of times.

There wasn’t much traffic on the road that ran parallel to the hospital, but every time a car went hurtling past, everything in Thorin flinched… But the feeling passed when Bilbo knocked back against his arm and smiled up at him.

“We need to cross here,” Bilbo said, breaking the silence as he came to a stop by the edge of the road.

Thorin stared across the two lanes with no discernible traffic islands. Glancing down the road, he could just make out a set of traffic lights and a crossing. “Should we, er, go back and cross there?” he asked hesitantly.

“The crossing makes a very shrill beeping noise when the lights change,” Bilbo replied carefully.

“Oh… That’s, er, not one of my triggers.”

“No, it’s one of mine.”

Thorin stared at Bilbo, trying and failing to keep his expression neutral. “I… Sorry…”

Bilbo’s reassuring smile returned. “It’s alright… We can cross now.”

With Bilbo gesturing across the road, Thorin let himself be herded to the opposite pavement. Bilbo kept on walking and Thorin took a few long strides to keep up with him. They turned a corner and had only gone a few dozen yards when Bilbo came to another stop.

“So, this is the coffee shop?” Thorin asked, staring across the road at a building which seemed older than those around it, slightly crooked almost. Brightly painted green letters proclaimed it be ‘Esgaroth Coffee House’.

“It is,” Bilbo grinned. “I can already smell the roasting coffee beans!”

There were no cars at all on this side-road and so they crossed it easily. Bilbo led the way through the door and the faint tinkling of a bell could be heard. The Esgaroth Coffee House had a slightly sloping floor of smooth paving stones and the walls were panelled with a rich, dark wood which matched the chairs and tables. There was an elderly man reading a newspaper in the corner, but he was the coffee house’s only patron. Bilbo approached the glass counter and Thorin couldn’t help but smile. Several homemade cakes, muffins, and scones were on display and he was sure Bilbo was practically salivating. It was the smell of coffee that drew Thorin further in… Strong and rich fumes were drifting out from the enormous silver machine behind the counter.

“Hello, lads.”

Thorin and Bilbo looked up to find the coffee shop’s owner appearing from a side room behind the counter. He was tall with curtained, dark brown hair that fell almost to his shoulders and there was plenty of equally dark stubble on his upper lip. A black tag on his sandy-coloured apron stated that his name was ‘Bard’.

“Hi,” Bilbo greeted in his usually cheerful manner. “You don’t happen to have somewhere we can sit and smoke, do you?”

Bard’s eyes travelled over them and Thorin decided to inspect the pile of blueberry muffins to his right.

“Of course, the terrace out back,” Bard said, gesturing to a door at the back of the room, before eyeing their spotless scrubs. “Tough shift, then?”

“Something like that,” Bilbo replied, a sadness appearing in his eyes.

“Aye,” Bard said, as if to round off this part of the conversation. “I’ll clean up a table for you and bring out some menus.”

“Thank you,” Bilbo smiled, then turned to Thorin.

Thorin avoided looking at Bard altogether as he followed Bilbo out onto the terrace, tugging his grey hat down over his ears. The terrace was small but cosy: a kind of walled garden with the same stone paving from the coffee house, but with an added smattering of dark green moss. Tangles of ivy covered the walls and with the dome of cloudless blue sky overhead and warm wind, it really was quite beautiful. Bilbo selected a table and Thorin joined him at it, sitting across from him as he began to root in the pockets of his scrub bottoms.

“You stole some cigarettes, then?” Thorin asked casually.

“I did,” Bilbo answered, flipping open the twenty-pack of Lambert & Butler before fiddling with the red plastic lighter. He suddenly stopped. “You don’t mind?”

Thorin shook his head. Bilbo had achieved something akin to a miracle, he wasn’t going to deny him anything. He watched as Bilbo drew a cigarette from the pack. “They’re Haldir’s, aren’t they?”

Bilbo placed the tab between his lips and grinned. Yes, Haldir was going to be beyond pissed off when they returned. Flicking the lighter, Bilbo lit up. Thorin watched the tiny orange embers appear as the tip of the cigarette turned grey. Bilbo inhaled deeply and then leaned back in his chair, blowing out a cloud of smoke.

“I know Dr. Grey calls this ‘maladaptive coping behaviour’,” Bilbo said, smoke seeping lazily from his nose. “But at this moment I really couldn’t give a fuck.”

It was then that Thorin realised how rarely he heard Bilbo swear… and it did something to his stomach: made it squirm in a way that could have been good or bad.

“Would you like one?” Bilbo asked, nudging the silver packet across the table towards Thorin.

Thorin eyed the cigarettes. He had never really been a committed smoker; he tended only to smoke socially with his men after a good patrol with everyone returned safely home. And so, of course, he hadn’t smoked since the bullet… even when everyone at the Kabul hospital was at it, patients and doctors alike.

“I’m fine, thanks,” Thorin replied, aware that there was an edge in his voice.

Bilbo’s eyes became a little wider and he was opening his mouth to reply when a girl, who appeared to be in her late teens, stepped out onto the terrace. Her eyes moved to Thorin and she immediately reached up to fiddle with her light brown hair that was tied back in a messy bun.

“Hi,” she said, moving over to the table. “Some menus for you.”

She handed Bilbo one of the dark yellow, laminated menus and then promptly dropped Thorin’s before he could take it.  

“Sorry!” she gasped, quickly retrieving it and handing it to him, her cheeks blossoming with colour.

Thorin glanced over at Bilbo, who was hiding a smirk.

“I’ll just clean this for you.” The girl pulled a cloth from the pocket at the front of her apron and gave the table the quickest scrub Thorin had ever seen. “My dad’ll be out t-to take your order in a moment,” she said, the garbled words blurring slightly into each other. She then scuttled away back into the coffee house.

Thorin stared after her, arching a confused eyebrow. Had she figured out who they really were? Was she rushing back to tell her dad to call the hospital?

“I think you have an admirer,” Bilbo supplied, clearly able to see the cogs whirring in Thorin’s mind.

Thorin’s eyebrow disappeared into his beanie. “But I’m old enough to be her father.”

“It’s the hat,” Bilbo said, enjoying this a bit too much for Thorin’s liking as he tapped some ash into the tray between them. “I told you, you look good.”

Thorin’s stomach squirmed again at this compliment, but he decided to brush it off with a _tsk_ , before lifting up his menu to partially hide his face.

Having only just discovered the coffee section on the menu, Thorin’s eyes jumped up when he heard Bard’s voice. He hoped his flinch hadn’t been noticeable.

“Ready to order?” Bard asked, flipping open a slender note pad, a much-used pencil hovering over the page.

“I’ll have a large cappuccino with an extra shot of espresso, please,” Bilbo said pleasantly. “Oh, and a cinnamon swirl as well, if possible.”

“I’ve just put out a fresh batch,” Bard smiled, scribbling in his notepad. He looked to Thorin.

“I…” Thorin felt his throat seize up and his heart began thrumming ominously against his ribs. Bard’s dark eyes were trained on him, and Thorin was sure he could see the suspicion in them… He was going to give them away. Bilbo had spent days planning this and he was about to fuck it all up and have a full-blown panic attack in a very public place and –

“He’ll have the same,” Bilbo spoke softly. “But with a piece of the coffee and walnut cake… He needs all the caffeine he can get. It’s been a difficult night shift.”

“Of course,” Bard said, his gaze moving to Bilbo as he wrote down Thorin’s order. With a nod, he disappeared back into the coffee house.

“Okay?” Bilbo whispered, as soon as Bard was through the doorway.

“I-I’m sorry,” Thorin replied, before sucking in a deep breath. “I screwed up… I…”

“No, you didn’t,” Bilbo said gently. “He’ll just think you’re another overworked NHS nurse… We’re fine, I promise. But I hope you don’t mind that I ordered for you?”

Thorin shook his head. He had wanted to order a vat of black coffee, but the idea of a cappuccino seemed more civilised. His eyes slid to the nearly extinguished cigarette between Bilbo’s fingers. “Mind if I finish that?”

Bilbo laughed. “Not at all.” He held the cigarette out for Thorin to take.

Trying to hold his hand steady, Thorin placed the tab between his lips and took a long drag. He was reminded of the cup of water he and Bilbo had shared in that strange communion beneath his bed a few days ago… It made him realise that Bilbo was the one person with whom he felt comfortable sharing any part of himself. For over two months now they had been inhabiting the same spaces, moving together and around each other… Weirdly in sync.

Thorin exhaled a whispery gust of smoke and watched Bilbo watching him through it. It seemed a long time ago, that moment in the dayroom when he had realised that Bilbo was both one of the interesting and one of the beautiful people in this world. Admittedly, he hadn’t allowed his mind to dwell on Bilbo's allure… It had simply become an accepted fact that was always there, in the periphery of thought.

Despite the inherent anxiety of the situation and the triggers just waiting to happen, Thorin felt a strange calm descend over him. He was happy to be here with Bilbo, to have this little slice of normality, encapsulated within the ivy-covered walls of the terrace. And he was smoking again… because there may be one patrol that would never come home, but both he and Bilbo had returned… and had arrived safely here at their intended destination. Surely, that was worth a celebratory cigarette?

“Thank you,” Thorin said quietly, stubbing out the cigarette in the ashtray, sending up a few more ghostly wisps of smoke. “For doing this… For everything you’ve done for me.”

“You’re most welcome,” Bilbo replied warmly, and his smile was of the more-than-distracting kind. “Thank you for giving me the motivation to actually try this again.”

Thorin was about to reply when Bard appeared with a tray. The rich smell of freshly prepared coffee wafted across the terrace as he approached.

“Two cappuccinos, both with an extra shot,” Bard announced, carefully placing a cup the size of a soup bowl in front of Thorin and then Bilbo. “The cinnamon swirl… and the coffee and walnut cake…” Bard deposited the baked goods on the table. “Can I get you anything else, lads?”

“I think we’re fine, thank you,” Bilbo replied good-naturedly. “These look delicious.”

Bard nodded with a smile, and then, seemingly not one to linger, disappeared back into the coffee house. Thorin stared down at the cappuccino. There was a cursive ‘E’ sprinkled in chocolate over the mountain of foam.

“I don’t know whether to drink it or swim in it,” he said, tentatively placing a hand on either side of the cup.

“Well, Operation Espresso: mission objective achieved,” Bilbo grinned, lifting his own cup. “Shall we make a toast?”

“What shall we toast to?”

“To a fucking decent cup of coffee.”

Thorin smiled, he could toast to that. “To a fucking decent cup of coffee.”

He and Bilbo clinked their enormous coffee cups together and then took their first sips… Although for Thorin it quickly turned into a gulp. The coffee was hot, but not scorching, and it tasted like heaven. Thorin was sure he had downed almost half his cup by the time he lowered it back to its saucer. By God, he had missed that rich, aromatic taste of proper coffee.

Thorin looked across the table to find Bilbo trying to hide an amused smile. He raised a questioning eyebrow.

“You’ve, er, got a bit of foam… here and, er, here.” Bilbo tapped his top lip and the side of his mouth.

“Oh.” Thorin felt a rush of heat to his cheeks as he grabbed a white serviette and hastily wiped the foam out of his beard. “Gone?”

“Gone,” Bilbo confirmed. “Now, excuse me whilst I destroy this cinnamon swirl…”

Thorin was about to comment when Bilbo went very still. The tinkle of the bell could be heard, followed by Bard’s lowered voice: “Oh… They’re out on the terrace…”

“Ah, excellent, thank you.”

And that voice belonged to Radagast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And in that moment, I swear we were all Sigrid.
> 
> Thank you again for all your wonderful feedback, guys. Reading all your lovely comments really does make my day easier!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which coffee and cake are finished, and Thorin and Fili talk about boys.
> 
> Warning: This chapter features discussion of a suicide attempt. If you would rather not read it, but would like a trigger-free summary in a comment, please do let me know.

_“Ah, excellent, thank you.”_

Radagast. Of course it was bloody Radagast. Thorin’s fingers curled around his napkin. He was used to dealing with inner demons, but Radagast was very much an outer demon who seemed intent on ruining his few moments of solace. The napkin became a tight ball in his fist.

“Thorin.”

Heart pumping in his chest, Thorin’s eyes flickered to Bilbo. His voice had been gentle and low; both comforting and a warning. He was clearly aware that Thorin was pretending to crush their nurse’s skull beneath his palm.

A deep chuckle announced Radagast’s arrival on the terrace. Thorin’s whole body went rigid as he turned to see his tormentor arrive with Rosie, the curly-haired nurse from their ward, in tow. Bard appeared behind them, and he wouldn’t look Thorin in the eye.

“Well, don’t you both look dashing in your blue scrubs!” Radagast grinned, seeming absolutely, annoyingly gleeful at the situation. “The hat suits you, Thorin.”

Bilbo didn’t even try to hide his smirk, and Thorin was very tempted to kick him under the table. Self-consciously tugging the grey beanie down over his left ear, Thorin’s eyes moved from Radagast to Rosie. He knew they were both experienced psychiatric nurses who were fazed by very little, but he was sure they shouldn’t be so calm. He also wondered why he and Bilbo weren’t being sternly reprimanded… or even fussed over.

Thorin was surprised when it was Bard who spoke next: “We’ve had a few lads from the hospital come to us before,” he explained, looking contrite as he moved from behind Radagast. “I just wanted to be on the safe side.”

So Bard had seen through them after all. Hot, sickly feelings of guilt crawled into Thorin’s stomach… He knew he had given them away. His inability to cope with the situation had cost them their coffee and ruined everything Bilbo had worked so hard for.

“The scrubs are a new trick though,” Bard added, a smile brightening his apologetic expression.

Bilbo returned the smile and lowered his head, as if acknowledging a compliment.

“Right, I’ll just make a quick call,” Radagast said, producing a battered, brick of a phone from his scrubs pocket. He typed in a number with agonising slowness and then lifted the mobile to his ear. “Hello, Dr. Grey… Yes… Yes, they’re here… No, all safe and sound… Alright…” There was an audible crackling, as if a scuffle was actually taking place at the other end of the line. “… Ah, Dr. March…”

Thorin’s gaze flicked to Bilbo, who smirked again.

“Right… Erm…” Radagast stared at the iPhone clearly protruding from Bilbo’s pocket. “No, I’m afraid I can’t see a phone…” His eyes moved to the ashtray that was still emitting a slim stream of grey smoke. “No, no cigarettes either…” Radagast suddenly held the phone away from his ear as Haldir’s muffled voice blasted from the other end.

A smile tugged at one corner of Thorin’s mouth. Radagast may have horrendous timing, but he was the lesser of two evils. Purposefully winding up the junior doctor had scored him a few points back.

After another round of static, Radagast returned the phone to his ear. “Hello again, Dr. Grey… Alright… Yes, we’ll see you soon.”

The nurse hung up, and Thorin stared longingly down at his half-drunk soup bowl of coffee, the guilt stirring up into his throat. He daren’t look at Bilbo for fear of seeing the disappointment in his eyes.

“Right, well, Nurse Cotton and I are due a break,” Radagast said, and Thorin’s eyes shot up. “So we’ll pop inside for a coffee and let the boys finish their date.”

Thorin choked on a breath. _Date?_ His heart knocking against his ribs, Thorin’s eyes moved from Radagast to Rosie; they were wearing identical, irritatingly smug expressions… as if they knew something he didn’t. And then he realised that even Bard was mimicking their knowing looks, and his stomach scrunched up like the napkin still in his fist.

“This isn’t… It’s not…” Thorin spluttered, wondering why Bilbo wasn’t joining him in protesting.

“Come back in when you’re ready, and we’ll head back,” Radagast prompted, ignoring Thorin’s stammering. “Now, Rosie, did you see the size of those blueberry muffins?”

With that, Radagast turned and very unsubtly steered his colleague back into the coffee shop. Bard followed dutifully behind them, pulling his notepad from his apron pocket. Thorin stared after them, certain that Bilbo’s eyes were on him. His feelings of guilt were receding, slowly slinking back into the pit of his stomach. Their outing had not been cut short and they had been given a chance to finish their coffee and cake… But now a new problem presented itself. _A date?_ Why on earth would Radagast assume this was the purpose of their escape? Why had Bilbo not said a word to convince him otherwise? Why would…?

Oh.

Thorin’s gaze slowly moved to Bilbo, who was watching him very carefully over the rim of his coffee cup.

Could it possibly be true that ‘Operation Espresso’ had a mission objective that Bilbo had elected not to share with him? Thorin wasn’t sure how he felt about that… It both made his lungs shudder and a warm, fuzzy feeling rise into his chest.

“You haven’t tried your cake yet,” Bilbo commented, with a small smile, setting his cup back in its saucer.

It seemed Bilbo was happy not to discuss the issue, and Thorin wasn’t going to press him on it. Taking up the small, silver cake fork, he decided to tackle something else that was needling him. “You knew Bard had figured out who we were.”

“Yes,” came the simple reply.

Thorin tried not to stab his coffee and walnut cake with inappropriate vigour. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I thought you might like to finish your coffee before having a panic attack,” Bilbo replied, and there was humour in his eyes.

Thorin’s shoulders sank slightly, knowing Bilbo was right. “Sorry,” he murmured.

“It’s quite alright,” Bilbo grinned, tearing a chunk off his cinnamon swirl with his fingers. “Now, please try some of that cake before I polish it off for you.”

Returning Bilbo’s grin, Thorin tried a mouthful of coffee cake. It was even better than he’d anticipated: moist, fluffy, and the rich taste betrayed that it was definitely full of caffeine.

“Good?” Bilbo asked, swallowing another mouthful of pastry.

“Try some,” Thorin urged, setting the fork down and pushing his plate towards Bilbo.

Bilbo didn’t protest and eagerly loaded up a forkful of cake. The noise he made on tasting it was not what Thorin had been expecting: it wasn’t a noise that should be made in public. He had forgotten just how enthusiastic Bilbo was about food. He just wished he hadn’t felt his stomach clench.

“That’s really good,” Bilbo said, brushing crumbs from his lips as he returned the plate to Thorin’s side of the table.

Thorin decided to take another gulp of his coffee to distract himself.

“So… how’s Fili doing?” Bilbo asked, tearing another corner off his cinnamon swirl.

It appeared they were returning to the safety of small talk and avoiding any minefield topics altogether. Thorin pulled a walnut from the top of his cake.

“Her Biology exam went well, and she can resit her History exam in January if it really has gone as badly as she thinks,” Thorin answered, repeating what Dis had told him yesterday.

“Ah, that’s good,” Bilbo smiled. “I know I was a wreck when I came out of one of my final exams at Birmingham… But of course, I was getting het up over nothing because…”

“Because you got a First and an academic prize?” Thorin supplied, unable to help the hint of teasing in his tone.

Bilbo grinned. “Yes, something like that.”

The conversation remained easy and minefield-free as they finished their cake and drained their coffee cups. Sensing the outing was coming to an end, Thorin sat back in his chair, shifting to try and relieve some of the tension beginning to grip his chest.

“I almost forgot,” Bilbo muttered, seemingly to himself. He produced Haldir’s iPhone and tapped across its screen.

“You know his passcode?” Thorin asked, wondering why he was surprised.

“It’s Dr. Lorien’s birthday,” Bilbo replied, his tone a verbal shrug. “He’s been in love with her for ages.”

Bilbo then lifted the phone in front of his face, pulled the roguish smile that always did something to Thorin’s insides, and finished his pose with a thumbs up, taking a photo with the other hand.

Thorin waited for an explanation which eventually came: “I’m setting that as his wallpaper… He can whinge all he wants, I could’ve done much worse.”

Thorin chuckled as Bilbo pocketed the phone. The look on Haldir’s face was going to be priceless.

“Ready to go?” Bilbo asked gently, the wariness back in his voice.

Attempting to hide his grimace, Thorin nodded. He glanced around the terrace, already feelings pangs of loss. With its leafy walls and the endless blue sky as its only ceiling, this had been a beautiful place in which to escape. Thorin wondered if they would ever see it again… He also wondered when he had become so sentimental.

Bilbo rose from his chair first and Thorin reluctantly mirrored him. Entering the coffee shop, they found Radagast and Rosie waiting for them at a table by the counter, empty plates and cups between them. Sigrid, who had been stacking cups by the coffee machine, quickly rushed into the back room.

“And here they are,” Radagast said, giving Thorin the unsettling impression that he and Bilbo had been the topic of conversation. “All set for the return journey, you two?”

Bilbo turned to Bard, who was arranging cheese scones on a plate in the glass counter.

“We just need to pay our bill,” Bilbo said pleasantly.

Bard straightened up, shifting his feet with apparent discomfort. “It’s on the house.” There was no mistaking the pity in his expression

Thorin felt a spike of hostility come from Bilbo at his side. “You don’t need to do that.”

Bard glanced at Radagast. “Please… I can’t charge you.”

“Bilbo.” This time it was Rosie who spoke, her voice soft and reassuring.

Bilbo pulled a ten pound note from his scrubs pocket. “This isn’t from Haldir’s wallet… It’s my money, and I’d like to pay for something… It’s been a while since I’ve been able to do that.”

His voice had been firm, with a lingering hint of animus. Thorin hadn’t seen Bilbo this agitated since the morning he had read to him in his room.

“Of course,” Bard said, his tone full of regret as he moved to the register. “Your bill is £8.70.”

A change came over Bilbo immediately. All the tension evaporated from the air as he handed over the note. “Thank you, and can I say that the coffee and walnut cake was absolutely heavenly.”

Bard returned his change with a smile and Bilbo dropped it straight into the tip jar in front of him.

“All sorted?” Radagast asked, rising to his feet. “Right, well Ori should be receiving his Oscar round about now, so let’s go and congratulate him, shall we?”

 

…

 

As the doors to the ward were held open, Thorin moved a little closer to Bilbo’s side. He wasn’t sure what welcome they were going to receive, but he knew it wasn’t going to be as cheery as that of Radagast and Rosie. Feeling the coffee churning in his stomach, Thorin shuffled after Bilbo, approaching the nurses’ station where Dr. Grey and Haldir were waiting for them.

“The wanderers return,” Dr. Grey greeted them, a twinkle in his blue eyes.

Unfortunately, Haldir didn’t appear to be as amiable and his eyes were trained on Bilbo and Thorin with a murderous intensity. His knuckles were white around his stethoscope. Not wanting to hold Haldir’s homicidal gaze for longer than was necessary, Thorin glanced around the ward. A lot of patients had come to stand in the doorways of their rooms. At first Thorin panicked that they might resent him and Bilbo for breaking out when they couldn’t, but he quickly realised they were watching them with looks varying from awe to amusement.

It was then that Thorin spotted Ori down the corridor which led to the dayroom. He was sitting against the wall and being attended to by Beorn, whose fingers were against his wrist. There were a few strips of tissues protruding from Ori’s bloodied nose.

“G-Got a bit c-c-carried away!” Ori called cheerfully when he saw Thorin staring.

Thorin felt a little guilty that the young soldier had actually drawn blood to help him and Bilbo escape… He was also hit by the uncomfortable, belated revelation that Ori didn’t stutter when his words were screamed.

“Now, gentlemen, if you could empty your pockets, please,” Dr. Grey said conversationally.

Thorin simply stood there, having nothing to offer up, but Bilbo produced Haldir’s iPhone and ID badge, as well as his packet of cigarettes and the plastic lighter. He handed them to Dr. Grey, who, in turn, handed them back to the junior doctor.

“Oh, yes, very funny,” Haldir spat, as he inspected his phone that now bore Bilbo’s face as its wallpaper.

“I’m afraid we’re going to have to give you a bit of a pat down, just to ensure everything is as it should be,” Dr. Grey said, studying Thorin carefully. “Is this alright with you, Thorin?”

Thorin appreciated that the doctor was taking his personal space issues into account, but he also wondered how they intended to search him if he refused. Deciding he’d rather not find out, Thorin gave a stiff nod and gritted his teeth as Radagast gently tapped at his scrubs.

“I take it your clothes are in a safe place?” Dr. Grey continued, when both Bilbo and Thorin had been searched.

“In a ground floor stairwell,” Bilbo confirmed.

Dr. Grey’s eyes lingered on him, and something Thorin couldn’t place was lurking behind them. “And the pair of surgical scissors?”

Bilbo’s expression was vacant. “Also in the stairwell.”

Thorin didn’t like the implications of this question. His insides squirmed as he thought of his time in the Kabul hospital, not being allowed to shave or use proper cutlery… Did they still not trust him? Before Dr. Grey could continue his questioning, two nurses appeared from the staff office behind them. They were the nurses who had been at the station when he and Bilbo had made their escape. Both of their faces were oddly pale and one of them had definitely been crying.

Bristling at this realisation, Thorin tried not to grind his teeth. He and Bilbo hadn’t wanted to get anyone in trouble, but he was frustrated with the staff’s response to the situation. Did they actually think there was a chance he was going to do something stupid? Feeling Bilbo becoming agitated once again, Thorin’s hackles were well and truly raised. Did Dr. Grey really suspect that Bilbo would help him to hurt himself?

Fuelled by his frustration, Thorin turned an accusatory glare on the doctors before him. “You know my risk was downgraded when they moved me here?” he growled.

“It wasn’t _your_ risk we were worried about!” Haldir snapped.

Thorin froze, feeling as if the wind had been knocked from him. He slowly turned to Bilbo, only to see that all the colour had drained from his face.

“Dr. March, will you please go and put the kettle on in my office?” Dr. Grey asked, a steely edge to his voice.

Haldir's face was almost as pale as Bilbo's. “But Dr. Grey –”

“Now.”

The junior doctor glared at Thorin before storming off in the direction of Dr. Grey’s office, scattering nurses as he went. Haldir’s words echoed, full of ice, in Thorin’s ears… _It wasn’t your risk we were worried about._ He had completely misjudged the situation, and the scar on Bilbo’s wrist.

“And finally, gentlemen,” Dr. Grey continued, unfazed by his dismissal of Haldir, rooting through a drawer behind him. “I’m going to need a couple of samples, just to check you haven’t taken something you shouldn’t have.”

Thorin stared at the plastic pot in horror, fully understanding the meaning of _those_ words.

“Honestly, Gandalf, we went to a coffee shop, not a nightclub!” Bilbo sighed, sounding so much like his old self that Thorin did a double-take. How had Bilbo managed to rebound from Haldir’s remark so quickly?

“Be that as it may, several things will interfere with both your medications, and we need to adjust accordingly,” Dr. Grey said, the twinkle back in his eyes. “Now, off you go to the men’s room.”

As they were herded away by Radagast, Thorin’s eyes slipped to Bilbo. The colour hadn’t returned to his cheeks. Meeting his gaze, Bilbo flashed him a bright smile… Thorin returned it. He just wished there wasn’t an ominous feeling slowly wrapping itself around his stomach.

 

…

 

“And down into Plank Pose…”

Fili lowered herself carefully and Thorin mirrored her movements, pushing all his weight into his arms.

“And hold…”

The late afternoon sun was streaming in through the window and Thorin felt its heat on his right side as he counted, his muscles straining as he held himself up, palms pushed into the blue yoga mat beneath him.

“And now Cobra Pose…”

Gratefully taking the pressure off his toes, Thorin moved his legs down onto the mat, arching his back.

“Tilt your head a little further back, Uncle,” Fili prompted gently.

Thorin followed her instructions, though even after several sessions, he wasn’t exactly comfortable thrusting his chest out towards the door of his room.

“And we’ll finish in Lotus Pose,” Fili said, letting out an audible breath.

She twisted herself round to face Thorin and crossed her legs with practiced ease. Thorin pulled himself into Lotus Pose with a little less grace. He had to use his hands to drag his feet into the correct position – so they were facing the ceiling – but at least he was improving on his first attempts. Fili grinned at him as she pulled the black hair tie from her bun, combing her fingers through her fringe. Her English Language exam had gone well, and she was now much more optimistic about her chances of getting a Birmingham offer. The afternoon’s yoga session had therefore been more celebratory, rather than a form of stress relief.

“You know, Kili’s writing about you and Bilbo for his English homework,” Fili said casually, adeptly pulling her blonde hair back into a ponytail.

“What?” Thorin asked, his stomach jolting.

“He has to write a newspaper article,” Fili explained. “And he wants to write about your escape. He thinks it’s brilliant. As do I, as a matter of fact.”

Thorin was quite glad he had impressed his niece and nephew. Unfortunately, his sister didn’t share their admiration. “Has your mother calmed down yet?”

It turned out that Thorin’s true punishment for his and Bilbo’s escapade yesterday wasn’t admonishment from Dr. Grey, it was the fact that the hospital had contacted Dis… and she had been fairly livid. He knew her anger was because she worried, and he supposed she had every right to worry, but he wasn’t exactly looking forward to her next visit.

“She was still muttering this morning,” Fili replied, not even attempting to hide her obvious amusement at the situation. “But she’ll get over it.”

They sat in silence for a few moments, Thorin closing his eyes as he focused on his breathing. And then Fili spoke again. “So…” She drew out the vowel, watching her uncle intently. “Did anything, er, happen between you and Bilbo yesterday?”

Thorin’s eyes flew open and he stared at his niece. “What do you mean?”

“You know…?” Fili trailed off, her expression disturbingly sly.

Thorin continued to stare at her, raising an eyebrow in confusion.

“Oh… Okay, you really don’t know,” Fili said, looking a little shocked. “Erm… Right, I shouldn’t have said anything… Shit. Sorry.”

Thorin watched Fili fumbling with her ponytail and he was reminded of their first meeting when she had unwittingly revealed that she knew he was gay. He could feel Fili’s awkwardness, and he sympathised, but he really couldn’t let this go… Not when it concerned Bilbo, and in the back of his mind, he had an idea of where this conversation was heading.

“It’s alright,” he said quietly. “Tell me.”

“Okay,” Fili began slowly. “You know Bilbo planning your escape, getting all the things you needed together, and breaking you out… Don’t you think he was trying to impress you?”

“Impress me?” Thorin asked, furrowing his brow.

“So… So you know that Bilbo is ridiculously clever, but maybe he was trying to put all that into practice… To show off to you a little bit.”

Thorin’s mind continued to turn over these ideas. Did Bilbo really think he needed to do all this to impress him? “Why would he need to show off?” Thorin asked, thinking aloud.

Fili was studying him again and her expression made her look so uncannily like her mother that it was scaring him.

“Uncle… Bilbo really likes you,” she said, saying each word carefully.

Thorin’s heart did a very complicated manoeuver in his chest and his stomach gave a wriggle. He thought of Radagast’s words yesterday and how Bilbo hadn’t tried to insist that they weren’t on a date.

“But… We don’t even know if Bilbo is gay,” Thorin murmured, lowering his voice as he glanced towards his door.

It was true, Thorin was slowly learning more about Bilbo, but this was one thing that remained a mystery. Thorin very rarely discussed his own sexuality. He had never been open about it in the Forces. Few people in his life were aware of it, and therefore he had no idea how to talk about sexual preferences with anyone else. He had never dared raise the topic with Bilbo, and so his curiosity had been left as a constant niggling at the back of his mind.

“Whatever his sexuality, he’s interested in you,” Fili replied softly, her blue eyes bright. “He got his friend to fake a psychotic episode and broke you out of a secure unit to take you for coffee… He’s very interested in you.”

Thorin’s stomach leapt up into his throat. He hadn’t quite thought about yesterday’s events like that. He had noticed his niece’s intuition… Could she possibly be right about this? The thought made his heart repeat its gold medal gymnastics routine. It was then that he realised his niece was operating under the assumption that he was interested in Bilbo… Well, he knew he should have seen that one coming. Fili was very good at gauging his mood, figuring out what was bothering him, knowing when he needed space… Of course she would have discerned this.

“You are your mother’s daughter,” Thorin muttered, fiddling with a stray thread on his sweatpants.

“So I’ve been told,” Fili replied wryly. “I’m really sorry… Is it weird that we’re having this conversation? I don’t want to freak you out or anything… I guess… I just want you to be happy.”

Thorin looked up to see such openness and honesty in his niece’s expression. It was in that moment that he realised how glad he was that she had first decided to come and visit him.

“It’s not weird,” Thorin replied, though he supposed he would like to divert the attention from himself now so he could process a few things.

In his last session, he and Dr. Grey had gone over some of the basics of human interaction. The doctor had reminded him that conversations didn’t always have to be focused on him just because of his current situation. It was customary to ask about the other person.

“So… Do you, er, have a boyfriend? … Or girlfriend?”

Fili grinned. “Nah, I’m kind of okay on my own at the moment, but I’ll keep you posted.”

 

…

 

Thorin glanced at his clock again. It was nearing three in the afternoon, and Bilbo still hadn’t come in to see him. He hadn’t realised the pattern at first, but today it finally came to his attention that Bilbo usually appeared in his room sometime between lunch and the afternoon visiting hours.

Yesterday, Thorin had wanted to speak to Fili about what had happened after he and Bilbo returned to the hospital. She could see things in situations that he couldn’t, but he didn’t think it was fair to Bilbo to discuss such things with her. He knew this was something only he and Bilbo could talk about.

His eyes returning to clock, Thorin swallowed. If Fili was right, and Bilbo really was interested in him, perhaps he was getting frustrated with always having to seek him out, not the other way around. Rising from the bed, Thorin stepped into his slippers and padded over to the doorway of his room. He had only taken two steps out into the corridor when Rosie caught his eye. She was standing at the nurses’ station, scribbling on a patient’s chart.

“He’s sitting behind the door,” she said, with a soft smile.

Thorin gave a short nod in thanks, and moved to Bilbo’s room where the door was half-way open. Unsure of whether knocking was appropriate, Thorin decided to simply step into the room. Sure enough, Bilbo was leaning against the wall behind his door, a book in his lap.

“Hello,” Thorin said quietly, wondering if Bilbo would be annoyed that he was here.

“Hi,” Bilbo replied, smiling up at him as he closed his book. “I couldn’t get comfy anywhere else.”

Thorin was still developing his inference skills, but he knew enough about privacy in this place to realise Bilbo had picked this spot because the staff couldn’t see directly into his room. However, the fact remained that they still knew exactly where he was.

“Do you mind if I…?” Thorin asked, gesturing towards the available space next to Bilbo.

“Of course not,” Bilbo said, edging towards the door, as if to make more room.

Thorin slowly lowered himself down next to Bilbo, stretching his legs out in front of him. There were only a few inches between their shoulders as they both stared at the opposite wall. Thorin didn’t know what to say. Surely Bilbo had noticed that things had been a little strange between them since Haldir’s pronouncement… Thorin just wished he knew what to do to remedy it.

“You want to know why my risk is higher than yours,” Bilbo said finally, setting his book down on the floor beside him.

Turning to Bilbo, Thorin decided that denying this wouldn’t help anything. “Yes,” he whispered.

Bilbo leant his head back against the wall and breathed out slowly. “My risk is higher than yours because they don’t trust me,” he said carefully. “Haldir thinks I’m manipulative.”

Thorin turned over these words in his mind… and his eyes flickered to Bilbo’s wrist that was covered by the sleeve of his grey hoodie. An awful weight dropped in his stomach. He thought of how thoroughly Bilbo had planned their escape: he knew now that if Bilbo wanted something, he would find a way to get it.

“You’re not manipulative,” he said gently. “You’re just too clever for them.”

Bilbo smiled across at him. “I suppose I’ve never thought about it that way before.”

They returned to silence for a few moments, until Thorin said: “You don’t like Haldir.” He knew he appeared to be stating the obvious, but he was sure there was more to it than that.

“No, I don’t,” Bilbo agreed. He exhaled again. “Gandalf isn’t very happy with me at the moment… He thinks I have an unhealthy fixation with punishing him.”

Thorin could feel Bilbo growing tenser at his side. He would no longer look him in the eye; his gaze was fixed on the ceiling. Bilbo was waiting for him to ask the question, and so Thorin did: “Punishing him for what?”

Minutes seemed to drag by, and Thorin’s heart was pounding in his chest when Bilbo spoke again, his voice low and controlled: “Haldir had only been at the hospital a few months when he decided he couldn’t face his consultant on ward rounds… Instead, he thought it best to go and hide in a store room… So he chose a store room, went inside, locked the door, turned around… and he found me.”

Thorin’s stomach was a tight fist within him as he waited, breathlessly, for Bilbo to continue… though, really, he knew what was coming.

“I’d already managed to do one wrist,” Bilbo whispered. “But then he tackled me… and the shard of mirror went skittering across the floor…”

Thorin closed his eyes, but then in the blackness before him all he could see was Bilbo, pale and sweating, with blood gushing down his arm and over his fingers. He could tell from the jagged scar on Bilbo’s wrist that he hadn’t used a proper blade… But picturing a serrated spike of mirror made his insides knot themselves.

“I was so determined to die… I wasn’t going to let one doctor barely past his graduation stop me… So, I fought him off… I don’t know how much blood I’d lost by then and I could barely see straight… But I still broke his nose with my elbow and went for the shard…”

Bilbo’s voice had begun to waver and his face was now an ashy grey. Thorin waited, heart in his throat, the story all too real in his mind’s eye.

“And then he pinned me down… And I couldn’t… I couldn’t fight back… I didn’t have the strength… So he’s bleeding all over me… And I’m bleeding all over him… And I passed out in his arms as he was screaming for help.”

Thorin felt the corner of his eyes begin to sting. Bilbo’s gaze had moved to the opposite wall, and his expression was stony. Sensing there was more for him to say, Thorin stayed quiet.

“Haldir stopped me from killing myself… So the whole hospital seemed to think he was a hero… And, of course, he thought he was a hero… So when I wouldn’t thank him for saving my life, he resented me for it.”

Anger bubbled in the pit of Thorin’s stomach as he pictured Haldir’s default arrogant expression. He could easily picture the junior doctor lapping up the attention… And having no idea what Bilbo was going through.

“He thought I was being ungrateful… He just couldn’t understand that I wanted to die… And now it’s all just subjunctive history really… If he hadn’t decided to hide from ward rounds, if he had picked another store room… I would have got what I wanted.”

For the first time, Thorin could see Bilbo’s mask flaking away. His eyes were grey and shining, and he looked truly exhausted. Everything inside Thorin was aching for him, and he was desperate to say something… Something that meant something. But words had never been his forte. He also wished he could offer some comfort. But he knew, just as Bilbo did, that with certain things, there could be no comfort.

Bilbo had spoken about subjunctive history, and Thorin found himself wondering about how this would have changed his own history. If Bilbo had bled to death in that store room, Thorin would have had a different neighbour… He would have no source of security in the hospital… There would be no one to convince him to make the journey to the dayroom… No one to join him under the bed when his lungs were shredding themselves and he was going mad with panic.

“They’re waiting for me to try again,” Bilbo said quietly. “Though I know they had my next attempt pencilled in for a couple of months ago.”

Thorin swallowed to try and relieve the dryness of his throat. “What happened?”

Bilbo turned to Thorin, and his voice caught as he answered: “I got a new neighbour.”

Their teary smiles appeared simultaneously. Thorin knew then that Bilbo needed him… needed to know he wasn’t alone, just as he had in those awful moments beneath his bed. Thorin tentatively moved his hand across the inches between them and placed it over Bilbo’s that was resting on the floor.

Touching another person still felt very unfamiliar and Thorin was sure he was trembling, but Bilbo’s hand shifted beneath his and then their fingers were slowly intertwining, their palms pressing against each other. Thorin stared at their joined hands, his heartbeat thundering in his ears… and his senses were completely taken over by the heat of Bilbo’s skin against his.

Seeing the younger man blinking back his tears, Thorin began to gently rub his thumb over Bilbo’s, hoping it was somehow soothing. Bilbo glanced down and smiled, before his gaze moved back to the wall opposite. Thorin smiled too, continuing the rhythmic movements of his thumb, feeling his own anxieties ebbing away into the floor beneath them.

There were still so many things they needed to say, and so many things neither of them were ready to talk about. But, at that moment, it was just the two of them, sitting together and breathing softly in the quiet with their fingers entwined.

And for now, this was enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cue ‘Le Ciel Dans Une Chambre’ by Carla Bruni. 
> 
> So, I actually ended up in A & E the morning after I posted Chapter 7, but luckily the hospital had free WiFi so I still managed to read all your absolutely lovely comments. Thank you so much for your continued support, guys, it really does mean so much to me!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The one where Thorin wakes up four times. 
> 
> Warning: We’ve got some graphic content at the start of this chapter: details of a fair amount of blood and self-injury. If this is potentially triggering, I recommend you start from the first section-break (“Eyes snapping open…”) or I would be quite happy to give you a trigger-free summary in a comment, please do let me know if this is something you’d be interested in.

Thorin landed flat on his back in the dust.

In the few seconds before the pain split open the side of his skull, he saw the sun, huge and white, wheeling above him, and heard his own broken breaths blasting in his ears along with the tumult of enemy guns. They were strange seconds, in which the whole world seemed to shudder and grind to a halt. There was silence, but there was also screaming.

And then came the fire. His whole body contorting in agony, Thorin wrenched himself onto his side as the pain scorched a deep hole in his head. Searing heat ripped through his skin and soon he was emptying what little he had in his stomach onto the gritty sand beside him.

Blood. Blood splattering the dull yellow of the desert. Thorin knew now the burning wasn’t just from the pain, but the hot, thick streams of blood running down his face, down his neck, trickling into his left eye so his vision went red before he screwed up his lids to block it out.

The world was shivering around him now, and he couldn’t stop his body curling up against the spasms of burning pain, like paper shrivelling in an open fire. But Thorin forced himself to cling to consciousness.

_Ambush… No warning… Intelligence clear… At least a dozen of them… Samuels is dead… Saw the bullet go right through him… Johnson and Haworth hit in the chest… Can’t hear anyone… Who else…? Who ---_

Bilbo. Thorin’s whole body jolted, sending pain splintering down from his head into his chest. Bilbo had been standing right by him when they were attacked.

“Bilbo!” Thorin’s voice was shredded, his throat burning as he called out, and his mouth was soon full of blood which he immediately spat into the sand. “Bilbo!”

Scanning the bleak, shimmering horizon at his feet, Thorin could see no trace of the younger man. He then strained his head around to search the space beyond him… and his heart plummeted into his stomach.

Bilbo was lying sprawled in the dust only eight or nine feet away, and there was definitely a red shadow slowly spreading out beneath his body.

“Bilbo!” Thorin cried out again as he dragged himself onto his stomach. Blood was still oozing down the side of his head, soaking his collar, and now his bloodied hands were coated in stinging particles of sand, but Thorin gritted his teeth and pushed himself forward.

He crawled towards Bilbo, his elbows and knees digging into the rough grains beneath him, and his lips were dark red from biting back the pain. As he approached, Thorin realised he could see something glinting in Bilbo’s right hand. It caught the sun, and Thorin had to squint against its shine… Drawing closer, he let out a strangled cry.

It was a jagged shard of mirror.

“No!” Thorin roared, his eyes wide and his whole body screaming as he pulled it in line with Bilbo’s. “No, you didn’t!”

Both of Bilbo’s wrists were slashed open, the blood stark and scarlet against his pale skin. There was no colour left in his white face… and his green-grey eyes were glassy, staring blindly up at the white sun above them.

“No!” Thorin’s voice cracked as his bloodied, sand-covered hand slid up onto Bilbo’s still chest.  “Don’t you dare leave me in here alone! Bilbo, don’t you ----”

 

 

Eyes snapping open, Thorin immediately choked on a breath as he dragged himself upright. Widening eyes fixed on the doorway, he clawed at his blankets, trying desperately to suck some air into his withered lungs.

Succeeding in drawing one quivering breath, Thorin exhaled and his eyes darted around his hospital room. It was filled with grey-gold light and everything was in its place: the table and chairs by the window, the bronzed statue of Ganesh on the sill, the Queen posters on opposing walls. The clock above the door told him that it was half-past five in the morning.

_It wasn’t real… It didn’t happen… Bilbo is alive… He’s next door and he’s alive…_

His forehead and face were clammy: it was not blood, but a cold sweat soaking Thorin’s pyjama top, sticking it to his neck and his back.

_Not real… Not real… Not real…_

The nightmare flashed before Thorin’s eyes again. He knew it had been a morbid product of his damaged mind, but there was still too much truth in it… As much as he told himself it wasn’t real, there would always be some traces of reality. What he had discovered about Bilbo yesterday afternoon had truly shaken him. Now, his unconscious had taken his own memories and woven them with Bilbo’s, stitched them together with the mutual threads of fear and pain and… Oh God… Bilbo’s eyes, lifeless and unseeing, so much blood in the sand…

Thorin could hear his heart beating with a threatening thump in his ears and his chest was getting tight again… Shit. He was going to have a panic attack. He hadn’t had any sort of episode since the day of Fili’s History exam. He was so desperate not to break this streak, because that would mean he was getting ill again. Now he was panicking about panicking… How wonderfully fucking ironic. Dr. Grey knew what he was afraid of; they had spoken for a whole hour about it, discussing “anxiety over anxiety”.

_It’s alright if I have a panic attack… It’s alright if I have a panic attack…_

Thorin repeated this mantra over and over in his head, his lips twitching slightly along with some words.

_It’s alright if I have a panic attack… It’s alright if –_

The door suddenly swung further open and Radagast moved into the room. Thorin instinctively flinched, preparing himself for whatever unhelpfully upbeat greeting the nurse was going to throw at him, but Radagast didn’t say a word. Thorin’s eyes followed him as he came to the small sink in the corner of the room. Retrieving a fluffy, white flannel, Radagast began to run both the taps, filling the basin with water. He used one finger to check on the temperature and seemed thoroughly engrossed in his work.

It took Thorin several long moments to realise he had been so distracted by Radagast that he hadn’t noticed that breathing was becoming easier and that his heartbeat had calmed to a soft rumble. Finally satisfied, Radagast soaked the flannel in the sink. Lifting it from the water, he rang it out between his hands. Thorin watched the tiny streams of water slow to intermittent drips.

Radagast turned to Thorin and pressed the flannel into his hands. It was toasty warm with the water: not burning, not cold, but the perfect, soothing temperature. It was also soft to the touch and Thorin’s fingers sank into it.

“Why don’t you wipe your face?” Radagast said gently, with a smile of encouragement.

Thorin didn’t protest. He carefully lifted the flannel to his forehead and let out a sigh. He couldn’t understand how something so simple could be this comforting, but he wasn’t going to worry about that at the moment. Wiping his cheeks, Thorin found his hand stopped at the edge of his scar, so he brought the flannel down to soak up the sweat clinging to his neck.

The flannel had, much to Thorin’s relief, been blocking Radagast from his view, but now he caught the nurse’s eye. He was studying him with concern, his bushy brows furrowed. As expected, the irritation arrived.

“It was just a nightmare,” Thorin stated, his voice flat.

“And sometimes there’s no “just” about it,” Radagast replied, unfazed. “I used to kick my wife out of bed with my nightmares… She never complained, of course. No, she’d hobble off to the bathroom with her bruises and warm up some flannels for me.”

Thorin’s annoyance was instantly replaced with confusion. For the first time since his arrival, he clocked the simple gold band on Radagast’s ring finger. His mind then began to quickly turn over the implications of everything the nurse had just revealed… It took Thorin a long time to reach a realisation, but Radagast seemed happy to wait.

“You’re… a veteran,” Thorin murmured, feeling something uncomfortable – and very probably akin to guilt – stirring in his stomach.

“Now, that word makes me sound ancient,” Radagast grinned, taking the drying flannel from Thorin and returning it to the sink. “But yes, I am.” He began to twist the flannel, draining out excess water. “And no, it wasn’t the Second World War… That’s what Ori said when I first told him, the cheeky little blighter.”

Thorin felt thoroughly winded as Radagast passed the newly-warmed flannel back to him. It was as if he was meeting the nurse again for the first time.

“I joined the Royal Navy in 1975,” Radagast continued, when Thorin didn’t comment. “And in 1982 I found myself on board the _HMS Sheffield_ when the Argentinians sent a missile at it.”

“You fought in the Falklands War?” Thorin asked quietly. He had only been six at the time, but he still remembered everybody talking about the conflict for a long time afterwards.

“I suppose I didn’t do much fighting,” Radagast replied. “But yes, I was part of it… We lost twenty of our boys when the _Sheffield_ went down, and in the long months that followed when we came home a lot of us… struggled.”

Thorin’s fingers tightened around the flannel as he stared at Radagast, his stomach still squirming.

“I wasn’t myself, but I did my best to comfort those of us who’d returned Leeds-way… Sat up with them at night, let them have a real go about what happened, helped them in any way I could… And, in the end, I realised I was quite good at it, so I decided to sign-up to a different cause.”

“You became a nurse?”

“I did,” Radagast hummed, a cheerful smile appearing. “They advertised the job here in 1993 and I’ve been here ever since.”

Staring at the nurse, Thorin found he had no idea how to respond to all this new information. Behind Radagast’s eternal optimism and ridiculously cheerful nature were experiences of suffering and loss… Thorin could no longer chide the nurse for not understanding what he was going through, because he had gone through it himself.

Thorin wasn’t sure of the etiquette in these situations, and having no idea how to react, he simply replied: “You never said anything.”

“You never asked,” came Radagast’s knowing response.

There was no malice in the nurse’s tone and he was smiling… somewhat wryly. It was then that Thorin realised how few questions he asked other people about their own lives. Maybe this was because he had been so aware of his label as an “ill” person, and so focused on fighting his demons, that it hadn’t occurred to him that others had faced and were facing demons of their own.

“I’m sorry.”

Radagast’s smile came as a relief. “Not to worry.” The nurse then became pensive, his expression soft. He waited a few moments before saying: “Bilbo is awake next door, if you’d like to go and sit with him?”

Thorin’s heart jolted. _Bilbo bleeding in the desert… Bilbo with his eyes open and unblinking and his heart stopped…_ Desperately trying to vanish the flashes of nightmare crowding his waking vision, Thorin inhaled a shuddering breath. Would seeing Bilbo alive and alert help dissipate the awful feeling clogging his chest?

Still, Thorin found himself reverting to his default mode of believing he was a burden to those he cared for. “I don’t want to disturb him.”

“I think he might appreciate the company this morning,” Radagast replied carefully.

It made Thorin stop. If he had learnt anything in the past fifteen minutes, it was that life inside the microcosm of the hospital was not just about him and his battles. He wasn’t sure why he was finding it so hard to accept that Bilbo might actually want to see him, but he turned his mind onto Radagast’s words and the meaning behind them… He clearly wasn’t the only one who had had a difficult night.

Giving a stiff nod, Thorin began to pull away the bedcovers. Radagast was beaming as he collecting the white flannel from Thorin’s knee and placed it over the edge of the sink.

“Why don’t you take your blanket with you? There’s a bit of a chill this morning,” Radagast commented, as Thorin stepped into his slippers.

Knowing that if he didn’t take the blanket with him, Radagast would bring it along anyway, Thorin pulled the dark blue, woollen throw from his bed and folded it over his arm.

The hospital was eerily quiet at this time in a morning. It felt as if the world hadn’t quite begun to turn yet and the summer dawn’s soft yellow light seeping through the corridors gave the whole place a surreal, dreamlike quality. Many of the patients were already awake, but few had ventured out of their rooms. The night staff were sleepily going through the motions until they could clock off and stumble home to their own beds.

Thorin and Radagast found Bilbo sitting up in bed, a book open in his lap.

“Good morning,” he said warmly, his eyes appearing very green and bright. Thorin couldn’t quite look away from them.

Bilbo didn’t seem surprised by their appearance in his room, and Thorin wondered if he had seen Radagast go into him. Had he expected the nurse to bring him in here?

“Just plonk yourself down, Thorin,” Radagast said, gesturing to the high-backed chair at Bilbo’s bedside.

Thorin did as he was told and, avoiding Bilbo’s eye, began to unfold his blanket and spread it out over his lap, tucking it around his legs. He did a double-take when Radagast elected to leave without any cues or fussing, and then the two of them were left alone.

Daring to meet Bilbo’s eye, Thorin tried to stop himself staring… but it was bringing him so much relief and comfort: seeing Bilbo, with a hint of colour in his cheeks and a spark in his eyes. His eyes flitted to Bilbo’s wrist, which was covered by the long, light blue sleeve of his pyjama top… and then his gaze slid down to Bilbo’s hand, the one he had held yesterday, and really quite wanted to hold again, if he was honest with himself. He thought about how their fingers had been tangled together and the heat of Bilbo’s palm, and how, for the first time in a very long time, touching someone else felt absolutely wonderful and wasn’t just something to be tolerated and…

Bilbo was grinning at him. Thorin suddenly became very aware that several moments had passed since Radagast left and he was yet to say anything at all.

“Hello.” It was the first word that came to mind. Nice to know he was as smooth as ever.

“Hello,” Bilbo replied, still grinning.

It was clear that Bilbo had no intention of asking why Thorin had been ferried into his room at six o’clock in the morning, and so Thorin decided that asking why Bilbo was already awake wasn’t a good idea either. His eyes moved to the thin paperback Bilbo was still holding open.

“What are you reading?”

“ _Asymmetric Warfare and Military Thought_ by Adam Lowther… It’s a really gripping read.”  

The sarcasm Thorin detected meant he guessed he was relinquished from pretending to be interested in Bilbo’s reading material. “How many times have you read it?”

“Four and a half,” Bilbo smirked. “I have to say, it hasn’t improved with age.”

Thorin leaned back in the chair and pulled the blanket further up his chest. He was very quickly running out of possible topics of conversation, and he was still plagued with the lingering doubts that he was intruding…

“Would you like me to read to you?” Bilbo said suddenly, and Thorin was surprised to discover the apprehension in his tone. “Honestly, this is enough to put most people to sleep… and I suppose I do want to return the favour.”

Bilbo’s nervousness when making this suggestion was ridiculously endearing: Thorin had no intention of turning him down, even though he doubted he would sleep again that morning.

“Alright,” Thorin said quietly. He shifted in his seat, turning his body towards Bilbo and leaning his head against the top of the chair’s arm. “But just so you know, I have no idea what ‘asymmetric warfare’ is.”

Bilbo only grinned, and then turned a page in the book. He cleared his throat with the kind of mock theatricality Thorin had grown fond of, and then began to read.

“Before his death, Clausewitz remarked that _On War_ was incomplete and in need of revision because his thoughts on war had evolved since he began writing…”

Thorin’s eyes fluttered shut as he listened. Bilbo’s voice was soft and low, but not the monotone of someone inexperienced at reading aloud… It rose and fell with captivating intonation, and Thorin found himself following it in his mind, as if it were a golden thread bouncing and changing into all sorts of shapes.

“Mahan, a prolific writer and student of Jomini, applies the linear concepts of the Swiss strategist to naval combat suggesting that naval warfare, like its land counterpart, follows a set of timeless principles…”

Images of Radagast in full naval uniform appeared in bursts of light, but Thorin’s thoughts didn’t linger over the _HMS Sheffield_ filling with water… they returned to the bright gold line he was chasing as Bilbo read. As long as Bilbo was reading and was a voice in Thorin’s head, it meant he was alive, and Thorin wasn’t alone… He was happy it was the two of them again in this room, with the rising sun breathing a gentle heat on one side of his face, the other pressed against the chair arm, and the thick, soft blanket covering his legs… and Bilbo’s voice guiding him off… somewhere he… was willing… to… follow…

 

 

“Thorin?”

Thorin cracked one eye open, feeling a crust of sleep sticking to its corner. Letting out a low groan, he tried to stretch out his legs, but they felt stiff and sore beneath his blanket. His eyes slowly opened and Rosie Cotton materialised before him, her auburn hair pinned back into a bun of messy curls. It took Thorin a moment to register that he wasn’t in his room… and that he was, in fact, still in Bilbo’s.

“Morning,” Rosie said softly, her hands reaching out to rearrange Thorin’s blanket as he pulled himself up in the chair.

“What time is it?” Thorin asked, his voice scratchy with sleep as he rubbed at his eye.

“Just past ten.”

Thorin sat up straighter. “What?” Had he really slept for four hours straight?

“I didn’t want to wake you, but letting you sleep any longer would cause a few problems for your medication schedule,” the nurse explained, looking genuinely remorseful.

Lowering his head in acceptance, Thorin then turned to Bilbo, and found the younger man asleep in his bed, _Asymmetric Warfare and Military Thought_ lying open on his chest. He couldn’t help the smile that appeared, and he didn’t particularly care if Rosie witnessed it. Bilbo’s eyes were twitching behind his lids and his mouth was hanging slightly agape as he breathed softly and evenly… and Thorin wasn’t about to force himself to look away.

“Thorin, I need you to lean away from the bed for me.”

Thorin’s eyes shot up to find Rosie standing at the opposite side of Bilbo’s bed and there was no mistaking the caution in her voice. Doing as she asked, Thorin shuffled to the other side of his chair, unable to keep the look of consternation from his face.

“Bilbo can react quite violently to being woken up,” Rosie said, the wariness remaining. “We usually leave him to wake up naturally, but he really does need to take his morning medication.”

This did nothing to ease Thorin’s nerves and he felt a few ominous palpitations squeezing his chest. He also wondered what Rosie meant by a ‘violent’ reaction… Maybe this was something Bilbo wouldn’t want him witnessing. He remembered how mortified he had been in the days after his afternoon under the bed with Bilbo.

“Perhaps I should…” Thorin began, making to rise from his chair.

“No, it’s alright,” Rosie said calmly. “I know Bilbo wants to get back into Dr. Grey’s good books after your little outing, and he’s agreed that he needs to be more honest with you about himself… This would be one way to do it.”

The knowledge that he was discussed in Bilbo and Dr. Grey’s sessions did something funny to Thorin’s insides… Was this more proof that Fili’s assessment of Bilbo’s feelings was right? But what was it that he needed to be honest about?

“Okay.” Thorin gingerly returned to the chair, making sure he was still leaning away from the bed. He wasn’t sure what to expect now, and this was only making his chest feel uncomfortably tight. “Do… Do  I need to do anything… Or…?” Full sentences were obviously not his forte this morning.

“I can’t move the book without waking him, and for a nurse I’m actually really crap at multi-tasking, so just make sure it doesn’t go flying,” Rosie replied, her tone unnervingly light. “Now, he’s basically going to sit bolt upright, but everything will pass within a few seconds, and then he’ll be back to himself again… and probably demand breakfast.”

Thorin nodded, secretly wishing Rosie would stop drawing this out and just wake Bilbo up… But he supposed he understood why she was explaining this to him. Something about being forewarned and forearmed.

“Right.” Rosie slowly reached out and took Bilbo’s left hand in her own, giving it a gentle shake. “Bilbo?”

Bilbo’s eyes flew open and he jerked forward, his chest heaving. The book slipped from the bed and clattered to the floor. Thorin’s heart was in his throat as he took in the horrifying look on Bilbo’s face… There was no light in his eyes, no essence of what he was, and he looked absolutely petrified. His left hand had Rosie’s in an iron grip, as if it was his only remaining life-line, and both their knuckles were almost white. The nurse’s discomfort didn’t show in her expression, but her jaw was set and rigid.

And suddenly the look of terror vanished… the gleam was back in Bilbo’s green-grey eyes, as if he had returned to his body. His shoulders slumped forward and a long breath left him, filling the whole room. He very carefully extricated his hand from Rosie’s.

“How many fingers did I break this time?” he asked pleasantly.

“All present and correct,” Rosie replied, smiling as she wiggled her fingers at him.

Thorin continued to stare at Bilbo, his heart still refusing to climb back down into his chest. He felt a definite heaving in his stomach, which only became worse when Bilbo turned to him.

Bilbo seemed to consider Thorin’s terrified expression for a moment and then commented: “It’s pretty scary, isn’t it?”

“No… No, I…” Thorin tripped and stumbled over his words, wishing his throat didn’t feel so damn tight.

“Don’t worry,” Bilbo said earnestly. “You should have seen the look on Rosie’s face the first time she had to wake me up.” Bilbo then pulled his face into an exaggerated expression of horror, his eyes wide and mouth twisted.

“I did not look like that!” Rosie scolded, smacking Bilbo’s arm, but she was laughing.

“Oh, it was brilliant,” Bilbo grinned. “Like you were about to get mowed down by a lorry on the M1!” He pulled the face again, this time with extra gusto.

“Stop doing that face!” came Rosie’s huffed response. “You can’t take your medication with your mouth hanging open like that.”

Unable to look away from the pair, Thorin was slowly processing their humour when confronting the situation. It seemed neither of them were fazed by this routine… and Bilbo was perfectly at ease, even though Thorin knew something truly awful must have happened for him to develop such a reflex reaction. He supposed it didn’t surprise him that Bilbo wasn’t going to talk about it, and instead had chosen to simply get on with his day.

“Gosh, we really have overslept,” Bilbo said, glancing at his clock. “Right, well, first breakfast it is.”

Rosie turned around and retrieved two plastic pots from the table behind her. She handed one to Bilbo and the other she held out to Thorin.

“First breakfast?” he murmured.

“First breakfast is pills, second breakfast is a Full English,” Bilbo explained. “And I’m guessing the kitchens are about to close?”

“Yes, so get a move on,” Rosie said, nudging Bilbo with good-natured reproach.

Bilbo tipped back his small plastic pot and swallowed his pills. He then opened his mouth so Rosie could inspect it.

“Trade you,” she smiled, and Bilbo swapped his pot for a breakfast menu and a small pencil.

Feeling Rosie’s eyes on him, Thorin dry-swallowed his morning medication and dutifully opened his mouth for her.

“Would you like to stay for second breakfast?” Bilbo asked politely, turning to Thorin.

“Um… Sure,” Thorin answered, feeling a fluttering in his stomach. He was sure he had overstayed his welcome and had been about to suggest returning to his own room, but it seemed he had just had a better offer.

Rosie handed Thorin a menu and pencil in exchange for his pot, and then retrieved Bilbo’s over bed table, moving it so they could fill in their slips of paper.

“I’ll be back in a minute,” the nurse said brightly, before disappearing from the room.

The breakfast menu wasn’t a menu per se; it was actually a list of items with tick-boxes next to them for patients to fill in and make their order. Thorin scanned the list, struggling to concentrate: Bilbo’s look of pure horror kept appearing in place of the menu before him.

“Thorin?”

Thorin glanced up. Bilbo was watching him with obvious concern.

“I… I’m fine,” he stammered, quickly glancing back down at his menu, aware that the stubby pencil in his hand was shaking.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” Bilbo said softly. “I didn’t think I’d fall asleep again today.”

“You don’t need to…” Thorin’s fingers were now tightly wrapped around his pencil. “I mean… Are you alright…? Did… Did that _hurt you_?”

Thorin immediately regretted asking. He was sure he had put his foot in his mouth.

“I’ve got a bit of a crick in my neck,” Bilbo said, with a shrug. “But nothing major.” A smile appeared. “Shall I fill in your menu for you?”

“Sorry,” Thorin muttered, sliding his menu towards Bilbo, still keeping a firm hold of his pencil.

“It’s okay,” Bilbo insisted. “Now, what would you like?”

“J-Just the scrambled eggs on toast.”

“And no bacon? That’s breakfast sacrilege.”

Bilbo grinned at him, and Thorin felt a little better.

“Alright, and bacon.”

“And fried mushrooms.”

“I don’t need mushrooms on top of the bacon.”

“But bacon and mushrooms go so well together.”

“There’s no pleasing you where breakfast is concerned, is there?”

“I’ll settle for the extra bacon and mushrooms.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

Humming to himself as he always did when food was involved, Bilbo ticked off Thorin’s items and then appeared to tick off every single thing on the list on his own menu. Thorin felt a familiar giddiness blossoming in his chest, watching Bilbo clearly enjoying himself. He was having a very bizarre morning, and he had just had a very bizarre conversation about breakfast… but bizarre in, what he supposed, was a good way: it was settling the ill feelings in his stomach.

And it must have been the bizarre nature of the situation, combined with the unexpected amount of undisturbed sleep, which gave Thorin the courage to say something rather bold.

“So… does this count as our second date?”

Bilbo didn’t look at him and was studiously checking their menus, but Thorin saw that he was beaming. “Oh yes, I should think so.”

 

…

 

Thorin’s mind slowly surfaced from unconsciousness, his ties to sleep having been severed by footsteps echoing in his shallow, confusing dreams. It was dark in his room save for the dimmed bedside lamp by his head, so it must have been the middle of the night. Pulling himself onto his elbows, Thorin froze… there was a shadow in his doorway.

“Bilbo?” he murmured, squinting at the dark figure as it moved into his room.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” Bilbo whispered, taking a few steps back again. “I thought you might be… I can go…”

“No, please… Stay.”

In the rectangle of light coming from his doorway, Thorin could see that there was no one standing at the nurses’ station. “Are you alright?” he asked, a frown creasing his brow.

Bilbo was now standing at the foot of his bed. “Fine… Fine, it’s just even _Asymmetric Warfare and Military Thought_ isn’t putting me to sleep tonight.”

Insomnia was, of course, something with which Thorin could deeply sympathise. He motioned to the chair at his bedside, suddenly becoming aware of the uncanny similarities between this night and the previous, only their positions were reversed.

“Thanks,” Bilbo said, his voice still no more than a whisper.

Thorin pulled his woollen blanket from on top of his bedcovers and offered it to Bilbo. The younger man smiled and set about draping it over himself. Thorin watched as he kept shifting in the chair, fiddling with the corners of the blanket.

“Are you warm enough?” Thorin asked, anxious that Bilbo really didn’t look comfortable.

“Yes… it’s just…” Bilbo bit the corner of his lip. “Well, my bum’s a little bonier than it used to be and this chair is really… But honestly, I’ll be fine… and I should not have made that comment about my bum… Sorry.”

Even in the dark, Thorin sensed that Bilbo was blushing. He was almost sorry he couldn’t see it. Wanting to remedy the situation, Thorin turned onto his side and shuffled over in the bed. “Here.”

Bilbo’s face said it all, and Thorin was beating himself bloody with his proverbial nail-embellished plank of wood. He hadn’t really meant anything by the offer, after all he and Fili had lain on this bed together and listened to music for two hours, but he now realised this hadn’t been a very subtle thing to say… and he was an idiot.

“Are you sure?”

Thorin’s eyes widened: this was unexpected. Bilbo was studying him warily, but still appeared to be poised on the edge of the chair.

Thorin’s heartbeat was in his ears. “Er… Yes, it’s fine.”

Before he could ponder the pros and cons of pulling back his sheets, Bilbo was carefully clambering on top of the bedcovers and cocooning himself in the woollen blanket. He then turned to face Thorin, lying on his side as his mirror image.

Glancing towards his door, Thorin’s eyes then returned to Bilbo. “Will… Um, will the nurses come in and say something?”

“No,” Bilbo murmured, before adding: “The men in here have spent their whole careers living in close quarters with other people… You put them in their own rooms when they’re vulnerable, sometimes they don’t like it. Ori always goes in to Bifur when he’s having a tough night.”

“Oh,” Thorin replied. He wondered if Bilbo had done this before… Had he gone in to Bifur or Ori during the night? Was this nothing more than seeking platonic comfort when making it until dawn proved difficult?

Bilbo shifted slightly, and Thorin was now painfully conscious of the fact that their faces were only a matter of inches apart on the pillow. He could feel Bilbo’s soft, warm breaths ghosting over his lips.

“I’m glad you came to me tonight,” Thorin whispered. “I-I mean… I wouldn’t want you sat in your room on your own… If you… needed to be with someone.”

Thorin knew he was making a complete pig’s ear of the situation. Radagast wasn’t the only moment ruiner around here. He just needed to stop talking. Stop talking… and not think about just how close Bilbo’s lips were to his.

And then those lips were pulled into Bilbo’s trademark smile. “Thank you.”

Shit.

All hell broke loose in Thorin’s mind. His heart wouldn’t let up and continued its insistent pounding in his ears. His stomach was permanently clenched, his chest was tight, he was sure his palms were sweating… and Bilbo wasn’t saying anything.

Thorin’s body had gone totally rigid as he stared at the man only a few inches away from him. He wanted to kiss Bilbo. He needed to kiss him. He hadn’t felt this desperate desire for intimacy with another person for such a long time, and now that this urge had returned, of course his bloody body refused to co-operate.

He wasn’t brave enough to make the first move. The desperation and need were there, but so was the fear: if he fucked this up, if he lost Bilbo, life at the hospital would be without any sliver of solace and he would never get better… and now all he could do was pray that he could make the telepathy work between them again.

_Oh God… Please… Please just kiss me… Please… I can’t bear it… I can’t bear it, Bilbo…_

Thorin saw a slight quirk in Bilbo’s brow. Realisation dawned on his face, and he knew the message had been relayed. Thorin continued his silent pleas, hoping they communicated to Bilbo, who was always so aware of not breaching his personal space, that this really was what he wanted.

And then Bilbo closed those few inches of pillow between them.

The kiss was soft and chaste. Thorin stayed perfectly still, letting Bilbo press their mouths together. He didn’t dare move his lips: he only savoured the warmth of Bilbo’s kiss against them. All too soon, Bilbo was pulling away, his eyes fluttering open. “Okay?” he whispered.

“Yes.”

“More?”

“Please.”

Thorin caught sight of Bilbo smiling as he was kissed again. This time, Thorin allowed his eyes to close so that he could focus entirely on Bilbo’s mouth against his own. After one long, lingering kiss, Bilbo began to move his lips slowly, pressing them to Thorin’s bottom lip. It took a few moments, but finally Thorin began to reciprocate the kiss, attempting to move his mouth with Bilbo’s, following the younger man’s lead.

Their bodies were close together now, and even with all the blankets between them, Thorin could feel the heat radiating from Bilbo. He shuffled closer to him, acting on instinct, and Bilbo only mirrored his movements.

Beginning to slowly tilt his head, Bilbo deepened their kiss. Thorin felt Bilbo’s tongue brush his bottom lip… but then a sinister voice whispered in his ear: _You know, this would be a really, really shit time to have a panic attack._

Thorin jolted away from Bilbo, as if shocked by an electric current, and a breath jammed in his throat.

“Fuck,” he ground out, his chest suddenly being pummelled by palpitations. “I… S-Sorry… It’s not… It’s definitely not… It’s just… Fuck…”

And, unsurprisingly, he had ruined everything.

“Shhh… Hey, it’s alright,” Bilbo whispered.

He continued to make soothing shushing sounds as Thorin screwed up his eyes, not wanting to witness Bilbo’s look of pity. “I’m sorry.”

“Thorin… Thorin, will you look at me?”

Slowly opening his eyes, Thorin was surprised when he found no pity in Bilbo’s gaze… only affection.

“You don’t need to apologise,” Bilbo said quietly. “And listen to me: you are in complete control of this… Anything you want or don’t want… You set the pace. Okay?”

Thorin didn’t particularly feel in control of anything at the moment, especially when he had been betrayed by his own mind, but Bilbo’s tone was still comforting… and for now, this was enough.

After a few long moments, Thorin shuffled closer to Bilbo again. He leaned in and pressed their foreheads together.

“Okay.”

 

…

 

Thorin opened his eyes. There was sunlight tumbling through the gaps in his blinds and the buzz of the hospital filled his ears. He was lying on his side, quite close to the edge of the bed. He was alone, but there was a slight dip left in one side of his pillow, and great curving creases in the sheets, and a blue blanket was folded into a square at the foot of his bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Does the ‘First Kiss in Fic’ Dance* 
> 
> This chapter was supposed to include a scene that introduced Bofur, Bombur, and Dori, but if I’m honest, guys, this was a ridiculously difficult chapter to draft. I basically ran out of time and I really didn’t want to disappoint you by not delivering a chapter this weekend. So, Bofur, Bombur, and Dori next time, promise! And thank you all again for your lovely comments and wonderful support!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I saw BotFA on Friday *stifled sob* and I am emotionally compromised and in need of some escapism… So here’s 6,000+ words of socially-awkward Thorin!

“Check.”

In one smooth move, Bilbo swapped Thorin’s rook for his queen, who was now staring, rather ominously, down a cleared horizontal path towards Thorin’s king.

The chess board had been Bilbo’s idea on that quiet Thursday evening. Of course, Thorin had offered no protests… However, he had soon discovered that playing chess with a tactical genius meant games tended to be over fairly quickly. In their first match, Bilbo had managed to checkmate him in only four moves.

Sitting on Bilbo’s bed, watching the younger man’s focused expression across the board, Thorin was reminded of one of his and Fili’s more pivotal discussions. He wondered if Bilbo had suggested chess as another way to ‘impress’ him… though Thorin was still at a loss as to why Bilbo felt he had to prove himself. 

Thorin slid his remaining knight across the board, blocking the queen’s path.

“Er, Thorin… That wasn’t a proper ‘L’,” Bilbo murmured, with a gentle smile. “It needs to be like this… Or like this…” He drew two different ‘L’ shapes on the squares with his finger.

“Oh…” Thorin felt colour flood to his cheeks as he moved his knight back to its original position. “Sorry.”

“Quite alright,” Bilbo replied. “You can move your bishop in front of your king.”

Following Bilbo’s prompt, Thorin made a diagonal with his bishop, leaving it two squares in front of his king. He was spectacularly awful at chess. He kept forgetting which pieces could make which moves. Bilbo never hesitated to offer assistance when he was clearly struggling, but Thorin’s embarrassment was reaching new heights. He was only playing because he thought it would make Bilbo happy… and, yes, because he enjoyed seeing the way Bilbo’s forehead scrunched a little above his eyes whilst he was concentrating.

Bilbo was still contemplating his next play, and Thorin couldn’t tear his eyes away from him. It was now approximately eighteen hours since they had shared their first kiss in the early hours of the morning… and neither of them had mentioned the incident at all that day.

Thorin had no idea what was expected of him now. He was positively clueless when it came to developing relationship etiquette… if that was an appropriate title for whatever was happening between him and Bilbo. In the Forces there had been flings – brief and secretive dalliances with other officers – and on leave there had been the occasional one night stand… and for a long time, there had been nothing at all. Thorin had never had a relationship that involved actual emotional attachment, and therefore he didn’t quite understand what he was supposed to do. There had been no explicit declarations, like in all those god-awful films… But he wondered if Bilbo was expecting one, if he should say something.

He was also starting to panic that Bilbo’s silence might mean he regretted what had happened. The mere thought of it made Thorin’s chest unbearably tight, but he knew he had to face up to the fact that this may have been a simple ‘heat of the moment’ situation, and that it might never happen again. He didn’t even know if this was something that had happened before for Bilbo, or any of his – what Dis termed – ‘dating history’. Perhaps if he knew, he could make a better judgement on where he stood with Bilbo and… Oh God, he may have been shit at chess, but when it came to this he was truly abysmal.

“Thorin?”

Thorin suddenly found himself pulled from his thoughts with such force he feared whiplash.

“You were gone for quite a while there,” Bilbo said carefully, his expression unreadable. “Are you getting a bit bored of chess?”

Thorin immediately wanted to object, to insist that Bilbo was in no way boring him. He also wanted to apologise profusely. Unfortunately, his wild tangle of unsettling thoughts managed to get past his ever-malfunctioning filter, and what came out instead was: “Are you gay?”

Bilbo tensed, and Thorin felt his heart drop into his stomach. Idiot. He was a hopeless idiot. He had no idea how to make this better. He wished he could snatch the question right back into his mouth and –

“I am, yes.”

Bilbo was considering Thorin with a soft smile: there was some wryness in it, though nothing malicious. But Thorin didn’t have time to marvel at the versatility of Bilbo’s facial expressions: he was now processing the fact that his question, something he had been wondering for a long time now, had just been answered.

“Oh,” he replied, and the response sounded so horribly inadequate. He tried again: “Me too… I mean…” He inhaled deeply. “I… I am as well.”

Thorin now felt strangely exposed as he stared at Bilbo. He hunched his shoulders a little, as if expecting an attack.

“Great,” Bilbo grinned, the word sounding so nonchalant. He then seemed to notice Thorin’s discomfort. His expression softened and he added in a low tone: “Have you ever come out to anyone before?”

Feeling his heart beating against his ribcage like a battering ram, Thorin thought of Dis cornering him a decade and a half ago… She had already figured it out. And then Fili had brought in those glossy magazines.

“No,” he whispered, swallowing, but still failing to vanish the lump in his throat. “Not really.”

“Well, thank you for telling me,” Bilbo said, his smile unwavering, and Thorin saw him shuffle just the tiniest bit closer to him on the bed, although the chess board remained between them.

The realisation that he and Bilbo had just shared this unexpected moment of ‘coming out’ hit Thorin suddenly, and his chest was tight again… but not in an altogether unpleasant way.

“If you don’t feel comfortable talking about this, we can talk about something else,” Bilbo suggested, after Thorin had been quiet for a few moments.

“I’m not good at this,” Thorin mumbled, his fingers fidgeting in his lap. “But I… I think I’d like to talk about it.” He knew it would probably be good for him to have this conversation… and at that moment there was no other person in the world with whom he’d rather talk.

“Does your sister know you’re gay?” Bilbo asked quietly.

“Yes… She guessed,” Thorin replied, trying to still his fingers. He suspected Bilbo had already known the answer to that question. “And Fili knows too… Have you ever come out to anyone?”

Thorin hoped this wasn’t an inappropriate thing to ask, but the answer came almost straight away: “Well, I’ve been out since I was sixteen.”

Trying not to stare, Thorin simply waited for Bilbo to elaborate.

“As a teenager I was already short, chubby, and academic… Oh, and in foster care,” Bilbo explained. “The fact that I was also gay was just a bonus for my tormentors. Some days they just didn’t know what about me they should target.”

A fist had curled in Thorin’s stomach. “You were bullied?”

“Quite badly, I suppose,” Bilbo shrugged. “But I had a good support network… and nothing too terrible happened.”

Thorin found unexpected feelings of protectiveness and fury flowering from the fist. He wondered how his teenage self would have reacted if he had seen Bilbo being preyed upon. He sincerely hoped he would have been brave enough to say something… but he also knew that, in all likelihood, it would have been his friendship group doing the tormenting. Being openly gay in a northern comprehensive in the 90s was a dangerous move, and so Thorin had kept that part of himself hidden, pushed down right inside. He was athletic, a great football player, and everyone had known about his intentions to join the army… so no one had dared say anything about his lack of girlfriends.

“I’m sorry,” Thorin murmured, wondering if that was guilt stirring within him. He had not been brave like Bilbo.

“It was a long time ago,” Bilbo smiled, though it betrayed a hint of sadness.

“And… were you open in the Forces?”

Thorin knew the ban on gay men and women serving in the UK armed forces had been lifted in 2000: six years after he had enlisted. He had never even considered coming out after the legislation was changed, but he supposed Bilbo was definitely young enough to have joined up post-ban.

“Yes, I guess I was,” Bilbo replied, his tone pensive. “It was never really an issue in my unit… I was very much the mother hen with them, and in return they were very loyal and protective.” Bilbo’s lips quirked. “I remember, a few years ago, a sergeant told me he didn’t want my ‘queer intelligence’… so my men went and dug-up a host of compromising photos of this sergeant and sent them to his wife.”

Thorin couldn’t help but smile. He’d been warned by his commanding officer very early on in his career: “Don’t ever fuck with the boys in the Intelligence Corps.” He now understood exactly what the officer had meant.

Taking a few moments to turn over all this new information – Bilbo waiting patiently opposite him – Thorin reached the conclusion that it wasn’t Bilbo’s sexuality that was stopping him from bringing up what had transpired that morning, so maybe – Thorin’s stomach clenched and he felt sick – he did regret the whole episode.

Watching Bilbo, his brow furrowed, Thorin decided it would be better to just ask and put himself out of his misery. “Do… Do you wish you hadn’t kissed me?”

Bilbo’s eyes widened in alarm. “Thorin… No, of course not.”

Heat was creeping up Thorin’s neck. He wasn’t handling this whole evening very well, and he daren’t wonder what Bilbo must think of him… but there was also a safer, more comforting warmth pooling in his stomach. No. No, Bilbo didn’t regret what had happened.

“Do you mind if I ask why you thought that?” Bilbo said, his voice dropping to a whisper.

Thorin shifted on the bed, his fingers pulling at his sweatpants again. “You… You didn’t mention anything today… I thought maybe…” He trailed off, looking at Bilbo in a way he hoped wasn’t too pitiful.

“Of course I don’t wish that,” Bilbo repeated, his tone quiet but firm. “I meant what I said when I told you you’re completely in control of this… I just didn’t want to push you on the subject today.”

“Oh.” The sound was once again small and inadequate. Thorin reached up to run a hand through his short, dark hair in frustration, letting out a sigh that almost tipped into a growl. “Sorry… I’m being an idiot.”

“You need to stop apologising,” Bilbo said, his smile warm. “I promise you this is all fine… Anything you want to ask me, want to talk about… Anything you want.”

Bilbo’s voice dropped as he repeated his words from that morning. Thorin felt a tingle growing up the back of his neck as he thought about those dark and early hours, lying in bed with Bilbo’s lips inches away from his. He thought about Bilbo’s bravery: it was about time he found his own courage in this place. Dr. Grey seemed to be relentlessly asking him about what he wanted… and he was never sure. But with Bilbo, he felt the need to once again be bold.

Straightening up, Thorin’s eyes found Bilbo’s. “I think… I want to try kissing again.”

Bilbo’s gaze was bright and he seemed to be concealing a smile. “Okay.”

Before Thorin could respond, Bilbo was moving from the bed. His door ajar, he peered at the vacated nurses’ station: Thorin knew they weren’t due a check for another half hour or so. Bilbo stepped over to the space behind the door, settling down on the floor by the wall. It was the exact spot where Thorin had found him reading the day after their ‘first date’. Thorin watched Bilbo’s movements, but he remained sitting rigidly on the bed, unsure of whether he should follow. His uncertainty evaporated when Bilbo tapped the space next to him in obvious invitation.

His legs feeling stone-heavy, Thorin tried – and most probably failed – to cross the room casually. He was relieved when he reached the wall and he could sit down opposite Bilbo. Now they were facing each other, their legs tucked under them, and Thorin felt a great sense of anticipation slowly swallowing his feelings of anxiety.

Eyes flicking to Bilbo’s hands, which were resting almost cautiously on his knees, Thorin remembered the way they had both been wrapped in blankets, their hands firmly by their sides, not crossing the breach.

Bilbo followed Thorin’s gaze. “Maybe a good place to start?” he murmured, turning his hands and holding them out to Thorin. “As we’ve held hands before.”

His heartbeat was like a drumroll in his ears and his breaths were growing sharper, but Thorin reminded himself that today was his day to be brave. He reached out and carefully took Bilbo’s hands in his own, easily twining their fingers. He found himself edging closer to Bilbo as he watched the younger man’s thumbs smooth soothing circles on the backs of his hands, just the way he had done in those moments behind the door.

The silence stretched between them, but it didn’t seem to separate them. Thorin was aware that he was relaxing into their positioning, Bilbo’s thumbs’ rhythmic rubbing slowly draining his discomfort. He wasn’t sure how long they had been sitting there when their thumbs brushed together. Bilbo grinned and pushed Thorin’s thumbs back. Thorin only retaliated and a scuffle broke out. He then gave a low chuckle at the absurdity of this battle, and it only made Bilbo grin more. Their eyes met, and this time Thorin didn’t need to send any silent pleas.

Bilbo rose up onto his knees and pressed a soft kiss to the side of Thorin’s mouth. Staying stock still, Thorin waited, barely breathing, as Bilbo’s lips moved to his. Their hands remained entwined between them, the warmth more than reassuring, as the kiss unfolded. After taking a few moments to get used to Bilbo’s mouth, Thorin began to return the kiss. He followed Bilbo’s lead, as he had done that morning, and responded in turn when he felt Bilbo’s lips fall open, his warm breath brushing against his mouth.

It was now time for another bold move. He was sure his hands had begun to tremble, but still Thorin slowly extricated his fingers from Bilbo’s. Bilbo went very still as Thorin’s hand came to rest in the hollow between his neck and his collar bone, and the other moved to his jaw. Waiting for some form of protest, Thorin’s lips stilled against Bilbo’s so that they were simply pressed together, but then Bilbo carefully tilted his head so Thorin’s hand could slide further up his jaw and his mouth began to move again, deepening their kiss. This was better. His need had grown since the early morning; the simple feel of Bilbo’s mouth wasn’t enough, and it felt as if it never would be again.

Thorin’s thumb was brushing Bilbo’s chin when hands reached up to rest on his shoulders. They slid in to his neck, then moved up to cup his face, palms warm against his cheeks. Thorin’s body tensed as his mind acknowledged and adjusted to this new contact.  

Bilbo’s lips suddenly pulled away from his. “Is this alri–?”

Thorin silenced Bilbo with another kiss, surging forward to capture his lips again. He had never been very good at talking about such things… and now was not the time for talking. His chest was still tight, his heart continuing to hammer, but all discomfort was drowned out by the heat of Bilbo’s mouth and Thorin’s increasingly desperate desire for it. This was what his mind had been denying him for so long, and he was consumed with the feel of their hands pressed against each other and their lips moving in almost perfect synchronisation, their bodies slowly becoming attuned.

After several blissful minutes, they broke apart, breathing heavily, as if they were coming up for air, and a soft moan left Bilbo’s lips. It was such a quiet sound… but Thorin lost it. His body jolted forward, as if on instinct, seeking out Bilbo’s mouth again, but he came towards Bilbo with such force that the younger man lost his balance and fell backwards, Thorin falling with him. Bilbo’s head knocked into the door, sending it swinging shut.

Thorin froze, all his weight in his arms as he stopped himself from collapsing on top of Bilbo. His hands were flat on the floor either side of Bilbo’s shoulders, and Bilbo was staring up at him with wide eyes, colour high in his cheeks.

And then the door opened. “Bilbo, what are you –?”

Rosie stopped at the sight of Bilbo lying flat on his back, face flushed, with Thorin looming over him.

Thorin’s eyes, wide with panic, met Rosie’s. It took one, horrifically long moment for her shit-eating grin to appear. “…I didn’t see anything.”

And then the nurse was gone.

Thorin lurched away from Bilbo, dragging himself into the corner of the room as his face began to burn. His head dropped into his hands and a definite growl left his throat. He had fucked up. Again. It had been… wonderful. He thought he had been brave. He thought he had somehow managed to remove one of his greatest obstacles: that of physical intimacy. But this time both his body and his mind had betrayed him. He was useless at all this. He would never get it right. He would –

“Thorin?”

Thorin moved his hands from his face to find Bilbo kneeling next to him, eyes filled with worry.

“I… I hurt you,” Thorin breathed, his voice high and strained.

“No, of course you di–”

“You hit your head,” Thorin pressed. Horrible, burning feelings were boiling over in his stomach.

“I’m fine,” Bilbo insisted, the concern not leaving his eyes, his posture wary.

A groan left Thorin. He screwed up his eyes as his cheeks continued to sting with embarrassment. Mortified didn’t even begin to cover it. And what on earth must Rosie be thinking now? Had she already rushed off to tell Dr. Grey? Would everyone in the hospital find out?

“Thorin…”

“I keep getting it wrong!” Thorin snapped, his tone harsher than he’d intended.

But Bilbo didn’t flinch, instead he gently slid his hand over Thorin’s on the floor between them. “Well,” he murmured, smiling up at him. “We’re just going to have to keep trying until we get it right.”

 

…

 

Thorin lingered in the doorway of his room, glancing down the corridor, his brow drawn into a distinct frown. Today he was expected to meet Fili in the dayroom. It appeared his ‘grace period’ was finally over, and Dr. Grey was now insisting that he see at least one visitor a week in a communal area. In their session that morning, the doctor had harped on about how much ‘progress’ Thorin was making: there were no explicit references, but Thorin wondered if this was an allusion to what Rosie had walked in on in Bilbo’s room last night. Although, Thorin supposed he had to give the nurse more credit: no one at the hospital seemed any the wiser, and she hadn’t brought up the incident since. Still, Dr. Grey believed progress had been made, and now he wanted to continue Thorin’s integration into situations with unfamiliar people.

Bilbo was currently in his own session with Dr. Grey, and Thorin didn’t think it was outrageous to assume that this wasn’t an accident: the doctor was making sure Thorin did this on his own, without Bilbo as an emotional crutch.

Drawing in one deep breath, Thorin shuffled from the safety of his room. The walk down the corridor seemed even longer than the very first time he had made this journey to the dayroom, but Thorin persevered. Shoving his hands into his sweatpants pockets and breathing through the chest palpitations, he just kept moving forward.

Finally reaching his destination, Thorin edged into the room and stood awkwardly by the wide-screen television, surveying this hostile landscape. Fili was yet to arrive, and he knew he was expected to take a seat and wait for her. There were a few patients sat reading in the window bays, and several more watching the television with the nurses. Those with visitors were occupying the chairs and tables towards the back of the room, and Thorin spotted Bifur sitting with two other men in the corner.

The salt-and-pepper haired soldier caught Thorin’s eye and signed a cheery greeting. His visitors, whom Thorin understood to be his cousins, followed his gaze. The dark-haired cousin with a ridiculously long moustache beamed at Thorin, and then quickly signed something to his rotund and red-headed brother at his side. The larger man mirrored the open and friendly smile, but Thorin had to admit he was relieved when they turned round and returned to their conversation.

Aware that a few of the nursing staff were eyeing him warily, and wanting to avoid any sort of exchange, Thorin made his way to a table. He purposefully chose a small round table in the corner of the room, as far away from any other patients and visitors as possible. Dr. Grey would probably grouse at this… but then he wasn’t here, and this was Thorin’s way of compromising.

“H-Hello, Th-Thorin!”

Thorin’s eyes darted up from the table to find Ori standing before him, smiling shyly as he fiddled with his knitted purple mittens.

“Hello, Ori,” Thorin replied, attempting a smile. He really didn’t want to enter into conversation with the teenager, and he’d hoped his position in the room had communicated that clearly enough, but the eager look in Ori’s wide, round eyes made it impossible to tell him to bugger off.

“I-is your s-s-sister visiting t-today?” Ori asked, his hands moving to pick at a thread on his jumper.

“My niece, Fili,” Thorin said quietly. He was now praying for Fili’s arrival that would save him from this situation. Removed from his comfort zone, with his tolerance levels dangerously low, Thorin knew it was only a matter of moments before his irritability got the better of him.

“Ori, come along now!”

Thorin turned to see a white-haired man sitting in a low armchair by the window. He offered Thorin an apologetic smile. This was Dori, Ori’s older brother; Thorin realised that he had been sitting in the room before he arrived.

“S-S-Sorry,” Ori said sheepishly, and before Thorin could comment, he rushed off to join his brother by the window.

Alone again, Thorin returned to studying the table before him, avoiding any and all accidental eye contact. He wished he was back in his room. There it was comfortable and safe and familiar. He and Fili could roll out their yoga mats and talk about her return to school after study leave, far away from anyone else.

Thorin was just starting to plot how he could annoy Dr. Grey in his next session and exact his revenge when Fili entered the room. Her blonde hair wasn’t tied back today, and it fell over her bare shoulders: her brown leather jacket was slung over one arm. Blue eyes scanned the room and then a smile appeared when they found her uncle. Already Thorin was feeling marginally better.

Fili swiftly navigated her way to the back of the room. In the periphery of his vision, Thorin saw Ori rise from his chair – a low stuttered sentence, “I-I’ll just g-go and g-get it”, reached his ears – but before Thorin could warn Fili, whose eyes were trained on him, she collided with Ori a few feet from the table.

In an impressive show of reflexes, Fili’s hands shot out to Ori’s shoulders to steady him and she barely lost her own balance, although the leather jacket had fallen to the floor.

“Oh God, I’m so sorry!” Fili gasped, colour flooding her cheeks as her hands dropped from Ori’s shoulders. “I wasn’t – are you okay?”

“Y-y-y-y…” Ori stammered, staring at Fili with shining eyes. He immediately began pulling at his mittens. “M-m-my f-f-f-”

Ori couldn’t get his words out at all and Thorin had never heard his stutter be quite this bad. Everyone was staring and a few of the nurses had risen from the sofas by the television.

“No, no it was completely my fault,” Fili insisted, her hands hovering in front of her, as if to reach for Ori’s shoulder again. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Ori barely managed a nod, and then he was quickly rushing past Fili, scuttling out of the dayroom. Thorin watched as a junior doctor discreetly slipped out of the door after him. Fili hastily collected her jacket from the floor and hung it over the back of the chair in front of her. Dropping into the chair, she covered her face with her hands, peeking at her uncle through her fingers. Thorin could see how red Fili’s cheeks were, and suddenly visions of Bilbo falling backwards into the door flooded his mind. His stomach twisted uncomfortably: he could easily empathise with his niece. Thorin hadn’t believed his sister at first, but maybe Dis had been correct in her assertion that he and Fili were more than alike.

“I almost floored a war veteran!” Fili groaned, her voice muffled slightly by her hands. “That’s got to be worth like the Fourth Circle of Hell… I’m such an idiot!”

And so is your uncle, Thorin thought, unable to help the fond smile that appeared. “‘Almost floored’,” he murmured. “You actually stopped him from falling… Maybe you’ll only get to the Second Circle.”

“Not helping, Uncle,” Fili moaned into her hands, but Thorin could see she was smiling.

Thorin grinned at her, relaxing in his chair. Fili always made him feel more human… more like himself. Talking to her was comfortable, easy. He was glad she had come to see him today, though he knew he shouldn’t be taking perverse pleasure in the fact that he wasn’t the first one to embarrass himself.

Slowly straightening up, Fili’s hands dropped from her reddened cheeks. “Please… Please just tell me he actually has a stutter and that wasn’t because I almost flattened him.”

Thorin pretended to look thoughtful. “Erm…”

“Uncle!” Fili whined.

“Alright, yes…” Thorin dropped his voice. “Yes, he does have a stutter… and you weren’t going to flatten him.”

Fili let out another frustrated moan and pushed a few thick strands of blonde hair out of her eyes. “See, this is why we need to meet in your room… I’m a danger to other patients.”

Thorin’s fondness for his niece only grew. It seemed they were both in the same boat where the dayroom was concerned, and he suspected Fili would be replaying this incident in her head for days, obsessing over it… just like he had spent the day going over and over the moment he had sent Bilbo flying back into his door.

And that was when Bilbo appeared in the dayroom.

Feeling his whole body tense in a simultaneously pleasant and unpleasant way, Thorin had no time to decide on a reaction before Bilbo was strolling towards their table.

“Hello, Fili,” Bilbo said cheerily, putting a hand on the back of her chair. “I hear you’ve just met Ori?”

“Oh, Bilbo, don’t!” Fili cried, her hands reaching for her face again.

Bilbo glanced across at Thorin, his eyes as bright as his smile. “Well, I won’t keep you,” he continued. “It’s nothing personal, Fili, it’s just I suspect you haven’t brought me any baked goods, but Bombur over there has promised me coffee and walnut cake.”

Fili smiled weakly in response. She watched as Bilbo turned and went to greet Bifur and his cousins, but before he reached their table, he glanced over his shoulder and offered Thorin a wry smile. Thorin just about managed to return it.

“Oh.”

Thorin’s eyes slipped to Fili. The colour was fading from her face and now she was grinning… grinning in a way he wasn’t sure he liked.

“Uncle,” she whispered, her tone now conspiratorial. “Bilbo’s absolutely smitten.”

Thorin coughed uncomfortably, avoiding his niece’s gaze. Maybe he should bring up the incident with Ori again… He wasn’t willing to talk about his own embarrassment.

“Oh my God.”

Thorin’s eyes returned to Fili and he instantly wished they hadn’t. “Fili…”

“Oh my _God_ ,” Fili repeated, her voice still low but filled with excitement.

She knew. Of course she knew. She may be like Thorin in some ways, but she was still her mother’s daughter.

“Fili, please…” Thorin said, his voice strained, his eyes silently pleading with her.

He expected an interrogation. A relentless barrage of questions… but, once again, Thorin had underestimated his niece.

“Okay… It’s fine if you don’t want to talk about it.” Fili sat back in her chair, still grinning and her blue eyes were the brightest he’d ever seen them, but her tone was honest… Thorin knew she genuinely had no intentions of pushing the subject.

“Can… Can we please talk about something else?” he sighed, rubbing a hand over his temple.

“Sure,” Fili replied, the knowing smile still lingering. “It’s kind of, er, related… But I have Kili’s homework to show you.”

Thorin raised a curious eyebrow as Fili began to route around in her rucksack. She pulled out a slim black folder and then extracted a piece of A4 paper from it.

“Miss Silvan, Kili’s English teacher, photocopied it for me,” she explained, handing Thorin the sheet of paper. “It’s the newspaper article he wrote about your, er, little adventure last week.”

Thorin was smiling before he’d even started reading. Kili’s report – written for the ‘Durin Times’ apparently – bore the bold headline: “PATIENTS’ DARING ESCAPE!” He recognised Kili’s handwriting, though he had clearly attempted to make it as neat as possible. There were signs of his teacher’s corrections and ticks littered the page, along with many positive comments. In the top right-hand corner was a hand-drawn picture… There was no mistaking that this was him and Bilbo sitting at a table drinking coffee. The cups they were holding were huge and the caption beneath it read: “Coffe cups as big as sup bolls”. The spelling had been corrected, but there was also the comment: “Excellent simile!” It occurred to Thorin that this was exactly how he had described the coffee cups to Fili. She had obviously included this in her retelling to Kili, and her brother had remembered every word.

“Can I keep this?” Thorin asked, his expression soft as his eyes continued to scan the page… Kili seemed to have taken the line that he and Bilbo were a new brand of superheroes defying the dastardly hospital’s policy on horrible coffee. He couldn’t wait to show it to Bilbo.

“Of course,” Fili replied. “That’s why I asked Miss Silvan for a copy of it.”

Thorin had been about to reply when he heard Bilbo laughing loudly to his left. He turned to see Bilbo sitting in the chair that had been occupied by Bifur’s moustachioed cousin. This cousin was now standing at Bilbo’s side, his hand on his shoulder, and he gave it a definite squeeze as the four of them continued to laugh at something Bilbo was signing.

His expression instantly darkening, Thorin was unable to look away. This touch looked so effortless. Images of Bilbo’s head knocking into his door as he fell back once again flashed before Thorin’s mind. Bifur’s cousin obviously had no trouble in showing physical affection. And then something even darker quivered inside Thorin’s chest… This squeeze of the shoulder was familiar. Too familiar. Sickly, burning feelings of possessiveness rose up within Thorin, reaching from the pit of his stomach right up into his throat and making it tight. These monstrous feelings were also tinged with hopelessness and despair. This visitor was everything Thorin wasn’t: friendly, cheerful, socially adept… Whole.

“Uncle.”

Thorin tore his eyes away from the scene, feeling as if he was about to throw up. He looked at Fili, unable to wipe the anguish from his expression.

“Uncle, listen to me,” Fili said gently, her eyes flicking to Bilbo. “The way Bilbo looks at you is totally different. There’s nothing you should be worried about.”

So he really had been that obvious… Although he did remind himself that his niece was a great observer of people. She had been right about everything so far. Perhaps he should trust her judgement on this.

“Do you know everything?” Thorin asked wearily, the sickly feelings slowly beginning to abate.

“I’m a teenager, of course I know everything,” came Fili’s wry response. “Now, I spoke to Rosie on the way in and she said if you made it through fifteen minutes we’d be allowed to grab our yoga mats and move back to your room.”

Thorin’s shoulders slumped with relief. “Alright… Let’s get out of here.”

 

…

 

“I asked you to write me two pages explaining your thoughts and feelings about your current situation, and instead…”

Dr. Grey studied the offending piece of paper held between his long fingers.

“You have written two lines: “Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy? Born in a landslide. No escape from reality.” I believe these are the opening lyrics from ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’?”

Thorin shrugged and sat back in the worn leather armchair. “I’m no good with words.”

He thought he had discovered a way to exact vengeance on Dr. Grey for the dayroom idea. In the few months he had been at the hospital, Thorin had never managed to get a rise out of the doctor. He had tried his best to wind him up by being purposefully difficult, but Dr. Grey always remained as calm as ever, and it was Thorin who ended up angry and frustrated. But this time he hoped his lack of effort with the assigned ‘homework’ from their last session would be enough to get a reaction.

“But I believe you chose these words because they had some resonance with you?” Dr. Grey said quietly, peering at Thorin over the paper, clearly unperturbed.

Thorin stared back at the doctor, unsure of what he was asking.

“You wrote down these lyrics because they mean something to you; they have a relevance to your current situation,” Dr. Grey elaborated.

Thorin frowned at the page in the doctor’s hands.

“I’d like to try a different exercise,” Dr. Grey announced, placing the sheet on the low table between them. He twisted around in his chair and retrieved a pen from a pot on his desk. “We’re going to do a little bit of literary analysis. Am I right in thinking you have an English A-level?”

Dr. Grey knew he was right. “It’s the only one I passed,” Thorin muttered.

“Good,” the doctor replied, his lip quirking. “Now, I want you to circle the most important words or phrases in these lyrics.” He handed Thorin the pen.

Glancing up at Dr. Grey, Thorin continued to frown. When it was clear that he was once again defeated and he hadn’t managed to ruin another session, he sighed and re-read the lines on the page before him. After some consideration, he circled ‘real life’, ‘fantasy’, ‘landslide’, and ‘reality’. He dropped the pen and pushed the paper back across the table, towards Dr. Grey.

“Excellent!” Dr. Grey’s eyes moved over the page. “Let’s discard ‘landslide’ for the moment; we’ll come back to that one later. But you must have realised that ‘real life’, ‘fantasy’, and ‘reality’ all belong to the same lexical field?”

“I don’t know what that is,” Thorin said, bristling.

“Ah, well, a lexical field simply means a group of words that have similar meanings or associations… and with these three words we see juxtaposition between reality and fantasy.”

Thorin rubbed at his temple with two fingers. He was failing to see how this was relevant to anything. “I’m not here for an English lesson.”

Dr. Grey sat back in his chair. “Why did you circle these five words?”

“Because you asked me to.”

“I didn’t select the words for you. What was it about them that made them important?”

Thorin was tempted to snatch back the piece of paper and rip it up. “Because they’re… er, nouns?”

Dr. Grey was leaning forward again. “I believe you have asked yourself similar questions, Thorin. You interpret ‘real life’ to mean your life as it exists in this hospital, and ‘fantasy’ refers to your nightmares and your flashbacks. There are times when you are unable to distinguish between the two, and this is a great source of anxiety for you. Equally, you feel trapped when you are sitting in my office, forced to confront the reality of what has happened to you and the fact you cannot escape it.”

Thorin stared at Dr. Grey, his mouth slightly open. He wanted to tell the doctor that he was talking bollocks… reading too much into everything like his A-level English teacher always did. But he couldn’t do it. In mentioning Thorin’s nightmares, his anxieties, his feelings of entrapment, he was speaking too much truth. How the bloody hell had he managed to turn Thorin’s attempt at sabotaging his session into a valid psychological exercise?

“Right, shall we discuss your circling of ‘landslide’? I think –”

Dr. Grey’s pager suddenly started vibrating on his desk. The beep was quiet, so as not to alarm anyone, but the fact that it still sounded like it was drilling into the wood made Thorin wince. The doctor collected his pager and stared down at it, a slight crease appearing between his grey brows.

“I’m afraid our session is going to have a little interlude, Thorin,” Dr. grey announced, his face a neutral mask. “Someone will come in and sit with you until I return.”

Thorin raised an eyebrow: this was odd. Dr. Grey’s pager had gone off before and he had simply called an end to their session, sending Thorin back to his room. Why was this time different? Maybe –

Thorin’s heart shot up into his mouth and he turned wide eyes on the doctor. “It’s Bilbo, isn’t it?” His voice was hoarse, the panic plastered across his expression.

After one agonisingly long moment, Dr. Grey pursed his lips, his eyes flitting towards the door. “Come with me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note on Fili and Ori: Yes, I couldn’t resist adding the tiniest dash of Fiori, but I’m afraid I won’t be pursuing a romantic relationship with Fili in this fic: the moment was there to demonstrate some delicious parallels between Fili and her uncle, and also because once the idea came to me, I couldn’t not write it. I hope this is okay with everyone!
> 
> Now, this will probably be my last update of 2014, so I just want to take this opportunity to wish all my readers a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year! You guys are so unbelievably awesome. Thank you so, so much for your continued support with this story. It has meant the absolute world to me!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look who’s sneaking another chapter in before the New Year!
> 
> I hope you all had wonderful Christmases and are still enjoying the holiday season. I wore a super glittery gold dress and a pair of acorn earrings for my family’s Christmas dinner (working the Bagginshield-goldsickness chic...) and received many hobbit-y gifts. 
> 
> Now, I know we all need some fluff in the wake of BotFA... So all I can say is: I'm sorry. But there is an inordinate amount of hand-holding to lessen the blow!
> 
> Warning: This chapter features a dissociative episode and there are a few, very brief mentions of past experiences of torture towards the end of this chapter.

Thorin followed Dr. Grey like a sleepwalker, his stagger hardly matching the silver-haired doctor’s purposeful stride as he led the way out of his office and down the corridor, back towards the ward. His heart’s frantic thrumming drowned out the hospital’s usual cacophony of clattering, and Thorin felt icy claws contract around his chest as he cast panicked, sideways glances at Dr. Grey. He desperately searched the doctor’s face for some indication of what was happening, but his expression remained indecipherable.

They pushed through the double-doors that led to the ward and Thorin was sure he was going to be sick. His stomach seemed intent on crawling up into his throat, but with each step he felt as if his whole body was plummeting downwards… He was being pulled apart in every direction, and it was the thought of Bilbo suffering, of Bilbo in pain, that was causing it.

It was only twenty minutes ago that Bilbo had cheerily nudged him out of his room and off to his session with Dr. Grey. Thorin had been as sulky and sullen as a small child being sent off to school, but Bilbo’s murmured promises of some more time spent behind his door had been sufficient bribery to get Thorin moving. Only twenty minutes… but Thorin knew first-hand how things in the hospital could change dramatically in a matter of seconds.

Trying to keep up with Dr. Grey, Thorin banged his hip on one of the jutting corners of the octagonal nurses' station, but he never registered the pain. His eyes were trained on Bilbo’s room. It was quiet… disturbingly quiet. Bilbo wasn’t shouting… wasn’t _screaming_ … Thorin couldn’t hear Bilbo at all and that, more than anything, made a wave of cold terror crash over him. He was about to utter a weak plea for more information when Haldir appeared out of Bilbo’s room, his bright scrubs flashing like a flag in front of a bull. Thorin’s fingers twisted into fists: he didn’t want the junior doctor anywhere near Bilbo.

“Dr. March?” Dr. Grey greeted him, urgency in his tone, as they came to a stop outside Bilbo’s room.

“Dissociative state, no apparent respiratory difficulties,” Haldir explained, his blue eyes slipping to Thorin and darkening to a glower.

“Dissociative or partially dissociative?” came Dr. Grey’s solemn reply.

“He’s not responding to any external stimuli.”

Each breath clawing its way out of his tightening throat, Thorin strained his neck to try and see into Bilbo’s room, but the door was only half-way open. He could hear the murmured discussion of the nurses inside, but still Bilbo was silent. He had no idea what a ‘dissociative state’ was and the clinical detachment of the doctors’ words was making his skin crawl. All he knew was that he needed to see Bilbo, he needed to be with him… Trying to block out the conversation, he moved towards the door, only to have Haldir step swiftly in front of him, blocking his path.

“Not a good idea,” Haldir drawled, speaking to Thorin as if he were a disobedient toddler.

And Thorin saw red.

Reacting on pure instinct, his hand shot out and grabbed the front of Haldir’s scrubs. He dragged the junior doctor’s face closer to his own, pulling his heels off the floor.

“I will break your neck with my bare hands,” Thorin snarled, his fingers tightening around the scrubs.

Haldir didn’t respond, didn’t even move, and he was completely still in Thorin’s grip. Thorin was suffocatingly aware of the silence that had fallen around him, but he daren’t move his eyes from Haldir’s face… He continued to stare down at the doctor, his gaze full of unequivocal hatred, his teeth bared.  

“Thorin,” came Dr. Grey’s placating yet cautious voice. “Would you kindly release Dr. March? I wasn’t quite finished with our discussion.”

Thorin ignored the doctor’s request, a growl slipping past his lips as his fingers shifted at Haldir’s throat. He could feel people closing in around him, and the hairs on the back of his neck bristled.

“Thorin, if you do not let go, I shall be forced to have someone restrain you and escort you to your room… and then you will be of very little use to Bilbo,” Dr. Grey tried again, his tone sterner.

At the mention of Bilbo, Thorin’s grip on Haldir’s scrubs slackened as the panic rushed in, dousing his anger. It was then that he felt someone drawing closer to his side, and a huge shadow was thrown over him and Haldir.

“Little Bunny needs you,” a deep voice murmured. It was Beorn.

Thorin knew the hulking nurse had been silently called upon to wrestle him away from Haldir, but Beorn, surprisingly gentle and never fond of physically restraining patients, was trying a different tactic. He was reminding Thorin of what was important: he needed to be with Bilbo and, for once, he mustn’t let his stubbornness stand in the way of what really mattered.

Slowly relinquishing his hold on Haldir, Thorin let his hand drop to his side and he stepped back, almost falling over Beorn, but the nurse steadied him, his touch brief and feather-light. Haldir immediately turned away from Thorin and smoothed down the creases in his scrubs with a scowl.

“Thank you, Thorin,” Dr. Grey said, with an inexplicable smile. “Right, Dr. March, can you please go and retrieve Bilbo’s notes from my office?”

With a stiff nod, Haldir strode away past the nurses’ station, his hands squeezing his stethoscope as if it were a stress ball. Dr. Grey caught Thorin’s eye and gestured to Bilbo’s room, gently pushing the door open. Thorin’s rage all but dissipated as he moved into the room. He had only taken one step inside when he froze.

Bilbo was curled up into a tight ball in the middle of his bed. His legs were tucked under him and his hands were fisted in his hair. His face was pushed into the bed sheets, entirely hidden from view. This was the pose of someone terrified out of their mind, but he wasn’t shaking… In fact, Bilbo didn’t appear to be moving at all. Thorin couldn’t even tell if he was breathing, and that made his own breath falter in his throat.

“Dr. Grey, I’m so sorry!”

Thorin flinched as his mind broadened its focus beyond Bilbo, registering his surroundings once again. Poppy, the befreckled, auburn-haired nurse who had been transferred to their ward last month, moved towards Dr. Grey, and Thorin stiffened when he noted the faint tracks of mascara running down her cheeks.

“I was just rearranging Bilbo’s books on his bedside table and I… I knocked the glass off…” Poppy said, her voice quivering.

“And the water on the floor was the trigger?” Dr. Grey asked quietly, his gaze flitting from Poppy to Rosie, who was standing behind her with a handful of paper towels.

Heartbeat in his ears, Thorin narrowed his eyes at Bilbo’s bedside table… Why would the water be a trigger?

In response to Dr. Grey’s question, Poppy nodded, and then brought a hand to her mouth, her shoulders betraying the shudder of a sob. Rosie was instantly at her side.

“Rosie, why don’t you take Poppy to the nurses’ office for a much-needed cup of tea?” Dr. Grey suggested kindly. “But do send Radagast our way, would you?”

“Of course,” Rosie replied, and then with one hand on Poppy’s shoulder, she guided her out of the room. As they passed by Thorin, the nurse gave him a smile of both sympathy and encouragement… Thorin only wished it made him feel better.

Dr. Grey came to the bottom of Bilbo’s bed and retrieved his notes from the box there. His eyes scanned the most recent scrawlings, and it was only then that Thorin wondered why Dr. Grey had sent Haldir to his office if Bilbo’s notes were, in fact, in his room.

“Why don’t you come a little closer, Thorin?” Dr. Grey said, peering up from Bilbo’s notes.

Thorin’s eyes were fixed on the bed: the person curled up at the centre of it didn’t really look like Bilbo at all. He appeared so much smaller, tucked in on himself like that, and Thorin couldn’t reconcile the image of this prone figure with his Bilbo.

“W-What’s… _wrong_ with him?” Thorin whispered, unnerved by the way no one was approaching Bilbo or touching him. The past five minutes seemed to have crashed chaotically around Bilbo as a static, unwavering centre.

“Sometimes, when Bilbo reacts to a trigger, he is unable to process the sheer intensity of his panic or fear,” Dr. Grey explained. “And so his mind removes itself from the situation, as a sort of defence mechanism. His body has, in effect, shut itself down.”

Thorin’s eyes widened as he continued to stare at Bilbo and his chest grew even tighter. The idea that Bilbo had somehow left his body, and was gone far away from him, was so frightening it was becoming physically painful. What was even more terrifying was the thought that he may be trapped in this state indefinitely.

“Not to worry, my dear Thorin,” Dr. Grey said, and he was watching Thorin’s face carefully. “We are going to bring him back.”

This pronouncement did nothing for Thorin’s anxiety; in fact, it only increased his frustration as he wished the doctor would just do something. ‘Help him! That’s your job, isn’t it?!’ his mind was screaming, but his mouth stayed firmly shut, his jaw set.

“Now, if you could go and perch on the edge of the bed?”

Thorin furrowed his brow at Dr. Grey, but the doctor only returned an entreating smile. Warily moving further into the room, Thorin approached the bed. Coming to Bilbo’s left side, he leant against the blankets, his movements feeling all wrong, rigid with caution. His eyes travelled over Bilbo’s curved back to where his long-sleeved pyjama top had ridden up, revealing a patch of pale skin, the slight ridge of his spine… and another scar. There was a thin, dark pink line running horizontally across Bilbo’s back. This scar didn’t look self-inflicted.

Thorin swallowed, looking away, feeling as if this was something he shouldn’t have seen. His gaze jumped to Bilbo’s hands: they were still tightly wrapped in his honey-coloured hair that had grown longer and curlier in the time that they had known each other. Bilbo’s grip was unmoving but fierce and, on closer inspection, Thorin noticed the strands that protruded between Bilbo’s knuckles at odd angles. The younger man had actually pulled out some of his own hair. Feeling the corners of his eyes begin to prickle, Thorin looked up at Dr. Grey, letting out a helpless, shuddering breath.

“I… I can’t…” Thorin whispered. This was too much. He couldn’t bear seeing Bilbo like this.

“You can help Bilbo, Thorin,” Dr. Grey replied calmly, from his position at the foot of Bilbo’s bed. “All I need you to do is talk to him.”

“Talk… to him?” Thorin furrowed his brow further. “About what?”

“Anything at all,” Dr. Grey prompted. “Share your memories of everything you have done together… Hearing your voice will help.”

Thorin studied the back of Bilbo’s head, desperately wishing he could see his face. “Can he hear me?” he asked, unable to keep the scepticism from his tone.

“Maybe not at first,” Dr. Grey conceded. “But he will.”

Rubbing a hand through his hair, Thorin shifted against the bed, turning his body towards Bilbo. He was afraid, yes: he was no good at helping other people, he wasn’t a remover of obstacles like Bilbo, and part of him was seriously considering running from the room… But for Bilbo, he would be brave. He remembered all too clearly the day Bilbo had pulled himself beneath his bed and sat with him, reminding him how to breathe. Bilbo had brought Thorin back; it was time for him to do the same.

“Bilbo…” Thorin’s voice sounded too high, but he persevered. “Do you remember the first time we met? I… I was the idiot who thought he could do a runner from a secure unit at three o’ clock in the morning.”

Thorin’s eyes jumped to Dr. Grey, who offered a nod of encouragement. It felt strange articulating his memories aloud to Bilbo, especially with their doctor acting as audience, but Thorin was also glad Dr. Grey was there to act as a sort of safety net… for when he made an inevitable blunder.

Inhaling deeply through his nose, Thorin continued: “I hadn’t even realised there were locks on the doors… and… and I was scared… But then you appeared in your doorway and you were just so… _normal_ …”

The hideous irony wasn’t lost on Thorin, and it made him stop. He hated _that_ word. He also hated the fact that he had been wrong. But that didn’t matter now. Thorin edged a little closer to Bilbo on the bed.

“I didn’t see you for a while after that… but I kept thinking about you.”

Thorin could feel Dr. Grey smiling and suddenly there was heat on the back of his neck. Letting out a huff to indicate his chagrin, Thorin spoke again: “And then you turned up in my doorway whilst Fili was trying to teach me yoga.” An unexpected smile tugged at Thorin’s lips. “I was in ‘Downward Facing Dog’ with my arse in the air… and I was so embarrassed…” The smile grew fonder. “Back then you made me so nervous… I could barely talk to you.”

Thorin’s voice caught, and he risked a glance at Dr. Grey. His eyes blurred, but only for a second, and he blinked the blurriness away.

“You’re doing brilliantly, Thorin,” Dr. Grey said gently. “I’m just a little worried about Bilbo’s hands in his hair… Would you be agreeable to placing your own over his to see if we can get him to loosen his grip? But understand this is only if you feel comfortable doing so.”

“Oh.” Thorin’s eyes slowly moved to Bilbo’s hands. Dr. Grey clearly thought Bilbo was in danger of hurting himself. “I don’t mind… How should I, er…?”

“Don’t use any force, don’t try and pull them away, just rest your hands over Bilbo’s.”

“… And I won’t… this won’t make him worse?” Thorin asked, his heartbeat growing dangerously loud again. Whenever he had any of his own episodes he absolutely hated anyone touching him… though he supposed Bilbo may be the exception to that rule.  

“Quite the opposite,” Dr. Grey assured him.

“Right.” Awkwardly lifting his hands, Thorin shuffled even closer to Bilbo, so that their sides were almost touching, and then leaned over him. His hands seemed to dwarf Bilbo’s as he gently placed them either side of his head, his fingers covering Bilbo’s completely. Bilbo’s skin was warm to the touch, and Thorin found this infinitely comforting. He stayed stock still, waiting for Bilbo’s reaction, but none came. Bilbo didn’t shift at all. Panicked, Thorin lifted his head, his eyes finding Dr. Grey.

“We’re getting there,” the doctor said calmly. “Now, I believe you were telling Bilbo about how, initially, you found him a difficult person to interact with?”

Thorin ignored the soft amusement in Dr. Grey’s blue eyes and turned back to Bilbo. “You quoted _Othello_.” His voice was low, steady. “I remember how surprised I was when I recognised it… And I was happy because it meant I could actually talk to you about something… Something that made me seem at least a little bit interesting…”

Thorin thought he felt Bilbo’s fingers move and he stopped, heart in his mouth, but when he didn’t stir again, Thorin moved on with his story: “You leant me your copy of _Othello_ and I sat up at night reading it when I couldn’t sleep… I read every single note you scribbled in the margins… You were funny when you were twenty… You’re still funny now…”

Bilbo’s fingers twitched. His fingers definitely twitched. Thorin watched as Bilbo’s hands shifted beneath his own, slowly loosening his tight hold on his hair.

“Dr. Grey…” Thorin breathed.

“Yes, he’s coming back to us,” Dr. Grey said, his eyes bright. “Keep talking, Thorin.”

Thorin’s stomach dropped when Bilbo’s hands stilled and he made no sounds, no further movements, but he took this first reaction as a sign, a good omen.

“Do you remember the morning I read to you?” Thorin asked softly. “You asked me to read _Brideshead Revisited_ … And I still have no idea what the book is about… But some of those first lines have stayed with me… Something about love being all symbols, about it being sadness and disappointment… But I don’t think –”

Bilbo’s hands were moving under Thorin’s again. Thorin’s posture became rigid as Bilbo stretched his fingers, fanning them out so that Thorin’s slipped between them, and then Bilbo was entwining them together.

“Bilbo?” Thorin whispered, needing, more than ever, to hear Bilbo’s voice. He could feel Bilbo’s fingers pressing into his own, but he daren’t squeeze back. It was as if Bilbo was walking a knife edge, and Thorin didn’t want to do anything that would send him hurtling back into his previous state.

“Be patient with him, Thorin,” Dr. Grey counselled, sensing Thorin’s frustration.

Drawing in a shivering breath, Thorin rolled his shoulders. His arched back was beginning to ache and he was now aware of a dull pain at his hip where he had slammed into the nurses’ station. He also wondered what Dr. Grey might think about his and Bilbo’s joined hands, but he pushed his discomfort to the back of his mind.

“You asked me to stay with you, so I sat in your room all morning, until Radagast chased me out… And you were the reason I visited the dayroom for the first time… I was so determined to be a grumpy, old git…” Thorin was smiling again. “But you introduced me to Bifur and Ori… and they didn’t immediately run for the hills… We played Rummy… and that was when I realised how…”

Thorin stopped himself just in time. This retelling of their time together, with fingers interlaced, had such an intimate feel about it that Thorin had almost forgotten Dr. Grey’s omnipresence at the bottom of the bed. Part of him wished he were alone with Bilbo, without a safety net, so that he could tell him that during his first trip to the dayroom he’d finally realised that Bilbo was the most uncommonly interesting, most uncommonly beautiful person he had ever met… And it had all started from there. The heat was crawling up his neck again.

“I… I realised how good you are at everything,” Thorin finished lamely. This was also true, but it wasn’t the best recovery. “A-And you taught me how to sign a few things… So I could talk to Bifur… and, well, so I could talk to you too…”

Staring down at his and Bilbo’s joined hands, Thorin thought about his rudimentary grasp of Sign Language, and all the things different gestures could communicate. If love really was about symbols, what about fingers interlocking and bringing a person back from the brink… Did that mean anything?

Thorin was torn from his meandering trail of thought when Bilbo’s hands suddenly moved from his head, bringing Thorin’s with them as they settled on the bed sheets, either side of his ears. Breath stilled in his throat, Thorin waited, watching Bilbo’s mop of curls… willing him to come back.

There was a soft, low sound, almost a groan, though it was muffled by the blankets. Bilbo stirred, his fingers flexing around Thorin’s, and then he slowly turned his head to the side. One bleary, grey-green eye peered up at Thorin for a moment, before closing, and lines appeared across Bilbo’s brow.

“Thorin?” he whispered, his voice coarse, cracking on the second syllable.

Thorin’s eyes were stinging. “I’m here,” he replied gently, daring to squeeze Bilbo’s hands.

Bilbo let out a hum, his eyes opening again. He scanned the room, his gaze becoming more alert, and the frown of concentration remained. Thorin was about to suggest Bilbo take his time to come around when the younger man began moving. He released Thorin’s fingers and pulled himself into a hunched sitting position. Thorin didn’t try to stop him, but his hands hovered over Bilbo’s arms as he noted the stiffness of his movements and the definite wince that crept across his face.

“Welcome back, Bilbo,” Dr. Grey said warmly, leaving his post at the foot of the bed to come to Bilbo’s side.

Bilbo smiled weakly in response, but he was unable to disguise a flinch as one hand reached up to his forehead. Thorin wanted to touch Bilbo’s shoulder, take his hand again, but he didn’t want to make him uncomfortable, and he wasn’t sure what was expected of him now. So he remained still and silent, leaning against the edge of the bed.

“Now, can you tell me where you are?” Dr. Grey asked pleasantly, leaning back to retrieve Bilbo’s notes from the bottom of his bed.

“Ered Luin,” Bilbo replied, two fingers rubbing at his temple.

“And do you know who I am?”

“Dr. Gandalf Grey… I could list your qualifications, if you’d like?”

Thorin’s chest fluttered at the wryness in Bilbo’s tone. He was sounding like himself already. There had been so many horrible moments in the last five minutes where Thorin had actually feared that he’d never see Bilbo alert and lucid again, and so hearing his voice came with the upmost relief. Thorin’s vision was going all blurry again and he hastily reached up to rub at his eyes, hoping Bilbo hadn’t noticed.

“As agreeable as my ego would find that, my dear Bilbo, it isn’t necessary,” Dr. Grey said, producing a pen from his shirt pocket and beginning to scribble on Bilbo’s chart. “And can you score your pain for me?”

Thorin tensed at the question, and he definitely caught Bilbo looking at him before his shrugged answer: “Two.”

Dr. Grey’s pen stilled on the page. “Bilbo,” he said softly. Thorin knew the doctor didn’t believe him and was waiting for the truth.

“Five,” Bilbo said, after a pause. He let out a sigh that tailed into frustration. “It’s… It’s my head…”

This seemed to be a begrudging admission, and Thorin’s heart contracted. Bilbo was clearly in pain, but embarrassed by this fact… Perhaps he wasn’t helping by being here.

“Not to worry,” Dr. Grey replied. He then turned to the doorway. “Ah, Dr. March?”

On realising that both Haldir and Radagast had been waiting by Bilbo’s door, Thorin’s stomach clenched. How long had they been standing there? Had they heard everything he had told Bilbo? Haldir moved into the room and Thorin unconsciously shifted closer to Bilbo, trying not to grind his teeth, but Haldir ignored him completely: his eyes were focused on the notes in Dr. Grey’s hands.

“Yes, very silly of me to forget that I’d brought them back to Bilbo’s room,” Dr. Grey said cheerfully, when he followed the direction of the junior doctor’s gaze. “Right.” Dr. Grey passed Bilbo’s notes to Haldir. “A hundred milligrams of diclofenac and two milligrams of diazepam, I should think.”

Haldir gave a stiff nod and then disappeared from the room to retrieve Bilbo’s medication.

“I’m going to be out of it,” Bilbo grumbled, wincing again.

“Only for a short while,” Dr. Grey replied, his tone comforting. He then moved to the cupboard by Bilbo’s bed.

“I… I need my hoodie,” Bilbo said suddenly, his voice rising.

Dr. Grey straightened up. “We just need to check your blood pressure and heart rate first, then…”

“Gandalf,” Bilbo ground out, becoming agitated. Thorin recognised the warning in his tone: it was the way he said Dis’ name when she was about to push him too far.

“Alright,” Dr. Grey said quietly, one hand held up in a pacifying gesture. “But we’re going to have to do one sleeve on, one sleeve off, whilst I take your blood pressure.”

Bilbo’s shoulders slumped and he nodded. Thorin had spotted the grey Birmingham hoodie hanging over a chair by Bilbo’s low table and was about to make a move to retrieve it, but Dr. Grey got there first. Thorin slipped off the bed to give Bilbo more space to pull on the hoodie. He watched as the younger man slid his left arm into one sleeve and then drew the hoodie around him, his movements still laboured and careful. Bilbo started fiddling with the zip, but his fingers didn’t seem to want to co-operate. He let out a muttered curse.

“Here,” Thorin murmured. He reached out and helped Bilbo zip the hoodie up half-way, his right arm still free from its sleeve. He was glad to have done something; he’d spent the past few minutes feeling very much like a spare part. Thorin knew he still wasn’t very good at this, but he desperately hoped no one would send him away.

He didn’t expect the smile Bilbo gave him as his hands dropped from the zip. It was full of warmth and it lit up Bilbo’s face, almost erasing the exhaustion and the obvious pain from it. Bilbo’s hand then slowly crept over Thorin’s in his lap.

“Do you mind?” Bilbo asked, looking contrite. “I’m just feeling a bit… er, delicate at the moment.”

“Of course,” Thorin replied, interlacing his and Bilbo’s fingers… _Perhaps all our loves are merely hints and symbols,_ that was the line, wasn’t it? And God, there was something in his damn eye. He reached up with his free hand and gave his face a furious scrub.

Dr. Grey coughed. “Bilbo, if you could lay back for me?”

Bilbo was still smiling, though more meekly, as he settled back into his pillows and let the doctor roll his loose-fitting pyjama sleeve up to his shoulder. The dark pink, jagged scar on his right wrist was revealed, and Thorin’s eyes quickly jumped to the floor as he busied himself with shuffling back into the chair at Bilbo’s bedside. Dr. Grey wrapped the dark blue cuff of the blood pressure monitor around the top of Bilbo’s arm.

It was then that Haldir re-entered the room, small plastic pot in hand. He stopped in the doorway, his eyes locking on Thorin. With Dr. Grey busy at one side of the bed, and Thorin sitting at the other, Haldir would have to come within strangling distance to give Bilbo his medication.

“I’ll sort that out, Dr. March.” Radagast finally stepped into the room. He didn’t give the junior doctor time to protest before he was plucking the pot from Haldir’s hand.

“Dr. March, would you mind calling in on Ori?” Dr. Grey said, without looking up from the blood pressure monitor. “I’m afraid I’m going to be a little late to our session, and he’ll need a routine obs written up as well.”

Clearly relieved at being given a genuine reason for escape, Haldir swiftly exited the room, leaving Radagast free to invade Thorin’s personal space. The nurse leant against the bed, his knees almost touching Thorin’s.

“Date of birth, please, Bilbo,” Radagast smiled.

Thorin recognised the obligatory question to check Bilbo was lucid enough to take the medication, but he also found himself suddenly intrigued by the answer… He’d never thought to ask Bilbo his birthday, and with another drop of his stomach he realised he didn’t actually know how old Bilbo was.

“September 22nd, 1981,” Bilbo replied, taking the pot from Radagast and tipping his head back to swallow the pills.

It was then that Thorin wondered if Bilbo had been at the hospital when he celebrated his thirty-second birthday. Sometimes he wished he wasn't forever discovering more and more things he didn't know about the man in front of him.

“I know, I don’t look a day over twenty-five,” Bilbo grinned, drawing Thorin away from his troubling thoughts.

“I’m just going to pop this on your finger, Bilbo.”

Bilbo’s grin faltered when Dr. Grey slipped the blood pressure cuff from his arm and clipped the heart rate oximeter onto the middle finger of his right hand. He then straightened up, readjusting his stethoscope around his neck.

“Radagast, would you mind holding fort here whilst I go and join Dr. March?”

“Of course, Dr. Grey,” Radagast replied amicably, beaming at Thorin and Bilbo.

The doctor strode out of the room and as soon as he had vanished from sight, Bilbo’s eyes slid to Thorin, and then to Radagast. 

“So, do either of you want to explain why Gandalf is keeping Haldir away from me?” he asked.

His tone was casual, but Thorin sensed the underlying tension. Bilbo clearly thought he had done something during his episode, and given his history with the junior doctor, Thorin could understand his unease. However, Bilbo was a little off in his assumptions.

“It… It’s not you,” Thorin mumbled, his stomach twisting in on itself.

As all his attention had been acutely focused on Bilbo since he entered the room, he had almost forgotten the _incident_ with Haldir. Thorin hung his head, an unexpected sense of shame creeping over him. He hadn’t been that angry or violent since his first week in the hospital; he supposed his medication had seen to that. He’d been so good at controlling his temper recently. However, in trying to keep him from Bilbo, Haldir had pushed him past his limit. Stealing a glance at Radagast, Thorin felt his stomach shift again. Was he going to get in trouble for how he had acted with the doctor?

Bilbo raised an eyebrow, studying Thorin. “What?”

“I… I, er, threatened to break his neck,” Thorin grunted, avoiding Bilbo’s eye. “And kind of grabbed hold of him a bit.”

Thorin dared to raise his head and found Bilbo grinning at him, and he actually looked impressed.

“He wasn’t going to let me see you,” Thorin added, his tone defensive with obvious traces of guilt. He was now aware that he was acting like an overgrown, sullen puppy.

“Oh, don’t you worry,” Radagast put in from the other side of the bed. He unclipped the oximeter from Bilbo’s finger. “Dr. March gets death threats all the time… Frankly, it’s a miracle he’s still alive at all, considering he chooses to be an arsehole in a ward full of highly-trained soldiers.”

Thorin and Bilbo stared at Radagast with matching expressions of shock and awe. It was like hearing your grandfather swear for the first time. And Thorin couldn’t deny that it made him feel rather better about the whole situation.

“And speaking of Dr. March,” Radagast continued, unfazed by his patients’ stunned silence. “I believe he’s run off with your notes, Bilbo. I’ll be back in a jiffy.”

The nurse promptly exited to the room. Thorin and Bilbo watched him go, their expressions of surprise only just beginning to fade. Now that they had finally been left alone together, Thorin found he had no idea what to say to Bilbo. He began studying the floor beneath his slippered feet, consciously aware of the heat of Bilbo’s hand still in his.

“Oh.”

Thorin looked up, concerned. “Okay?”

“The diclofenac and diazepam just kicked in,” Bilbo said, blinking. “The walls have gone a bit wobbly.”

“Would you like to get under the covers?” Thorin suggested. He suspected the medication was going to knock Bilbo out, and he wanted him to be as comfortable as possible.

Bilbo’s brow furrowed for a moment. “See, I had a wonderfully flirtacious response to that question,” he sighed. “But now it’s gone… Damn painkillers.”

Thorin was about to gently push the question again when Bilbo released his hand and slipped his left arm into the sleeve of his hoodie, zipping it further up his chest. He then lifted himself, dragging the bed sheets back. He shuffled around against his pillows, wincing slightly, until he was satisfied and then pulled the sheets back up to his shoulders. Thorin couldn’t deny the disappointed jolt of his heart when Bilbo didn’t immediately reach for his hand, but then it appeared from under the blankets and their fingers were once again entwined.

Bilbo was now studying him with a slightly glazed look. “Did I trigger you?” he asked seriously, the lines back in his brow.

“What?” Thorin asked, the question’s meaning slowly unravelling in his mind. “No… No, of course you didn’t… I’m fine.”

He knew Bilbo must have been remembering the night when hearing his screaming had caused him to panic and then black out. He had never told Bilbo the truth about that, but he was sure Bilbo had figured it out.

“Good,” Bilbo said, before adding: “I just interrupted your session.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Thorin said, a little more firmly than he had intended. He was struggling to cope with how ridiculously considerate Bilbo was being, especially after everything he had just been through.

Bilbo gave a soft “hmm” and his eyes slid closed. Thorin watched his face relax and felt his own posture relaxing in the process.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Bilbo said quietly, and his eyes were open again, though the look in them was a little distant.

Thorin’s heart throbbed with an unidentifiable ache. “So am I,” he replied, matching Bilbo’s low tone. He rubbed his thumb over Bilbo’s.

His eyes fluttering shut again, Bilbo shifted in the bed until a long breath escaped him. Thorin attempted to make himself more comfortable at Bilbo’s bedside, leaning against one side of the chair. He watched Bilbo’s face intently; every so often the younger man’s eyes would fall open and he’d peer around blearily for a few moments before unconsciousness seemed to reclaim him. He mumbled a few strings of inaudible words, but Thorin would soothe him, stroking the back of his hand with his finger and trying to guide him back to sleep.

Thorin’s gaze had slipped to Bilbo’s window when he heard him stir again.

“They… waited until I was too… exhausted to move…”

Bilbo’s voice was hushed, barely more than a whisper, and his eyes remained shut, but there was a slight frown in his brow.

“Bilbo,” Thorin said softly.

“Waited… then flooded my cell… with water…”

Thorin’s blood ran cold. Water on the floor had triggered Bilbo’s episode…

“Ran… an electric current… through it…”

Choking back a cry, Thorin squeezed Bilbo’s hand as the full force of this revelation crashed over him in a huge, icy wave and he was being dragged under the water. There were freezing hands wrapped around his throat, and more pushing down on his chest.

“Burning me… from the inside out…” Bilbo mumbled, his voice fading so Thorin could barely hear it. “But wouldn’t… let me die…”

“Bilbo,” Thorin repeated, his voice broken. He reached out to clasp Bilbo’s hand in both his own.

“… They never… let me die…”

“Shhh,” Thorin whispered, terrified of hearing any more. His eyes were wide and watery, his hands trembling. “Sleep now… You’re safe… You’re safe h-here with me.”

Thorin heard his own voice crack again and suddenly he could barely see. Bilbo’s lips were moving, but no sound came from them and the frown slowly faded. When Bilbo’s mouth stilled, Thorin sat back in his chair, drawing in a shuddering breath as the first hot tear slid down his cheek.

He knew… He’d always known that something truly terrible must have happened to Bilbo whilst he was MIA. But now Thorin’s mind was consumed with grotesque images of Bilbo convulsing on the grey, water-logged floor of some godforsaken cell and - 

“Thorin?”

Radagast had crept back into the room and was now standing at the foot of Bilbo’s bed, watching Thorin with an uncharacteristic seriousness.

Thorin blinked away the haze clouding his vision. “He was tortured," he stated, his voice flat, hollow. 

Radagast clearly knew this was not a question and an unsettling change had fallen over him like a shadow. The nurse seemed to take an age to reply, but finally the simple answer came: “Yes.”

Drawing in another choked breath, Thorin’s eyes moved to Bilbo’s pale, exhausted face. “And the rest of his unit?”

Radagast’s expression remained solemn. “Dead.”

“All of them?” Thorin breathed, his lungs feeling brittle and blackened.

The nurse’s wordless, sombre look gave Thorin the answer he had been expecting and his heart sank. He brought his free hand up to his mouth, screwing up his eyes.

“I’ll just be at the nurses’ station if you need anything,” Radagast said, his smile heavy with a certain sorrow Thorin had never seen before, and with that he left the room.

Thorin wasn’t sure how long he sat at Bilbo’s bedside, but the pain in his chest never abated. In this room lay a Bilbo that he didn’t know, and glimpses had been revealed only in drug-induced sleep.

_This sadness which sometimes falls between us…_

Anything you want, that’s what Bilbo had said, had repeated to him. Anything you want. His focus had always been on Thorin’s needs, never on his own. His heart keeping up its tormented thump, bruising the inside of his chest, finally Thorin wondered what is was that Bilbo wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoah, okay, this chapter turned out to be a very emotional one to write. I really don’t help myself with all these literary allusions – the original quotes can be found at the end of Chapter 3, by the way! - and I just had to throw in a couple of lines from AUJ and BotFA, because I’m a masochist! 
> 
> I also just want to say thank you so much for all the support you’ve given me this year, guys. Your feedback means the absolute world to me, and every single comment always puts a ridiculously huge grin on my face :D
> 
> Finally, I hope you all have a wonderful New Year’s Eve, whatever you get up to, and I wish you all the best for 2015!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *pre-emptively hands out blankets and hot chocolate* 
> 
> I'm afraid we've got some more angst, guys, but it will be worth it for the totally fluffy ending, promise!
> 
> Warning: This chapter features a panic attack in the first section, along with descriptions of vomiting. If you would like a trigger-free summary, please do let me know in a comment!

_Waited… then flooded my cell… with water…_

_Ran… an electric current… through it…_

Thorin’s eyes flew open, vanishing the blackened visions inside his head, but Bilbo’s voice continued its heart-wrenching whisperings.

_Burning me… from the inside out…_

_But wouldn’t… let me die… They never… let me die…_

Rubbing a hand over his beard – and ignoring the slight tremble in his fingers – Thorin slipped his feet out of Lotus Pose, settling into a more comfortable cross-legged position on his bed. He had wasted an hour attempting some of the meditation techniques Fili was teaching him when she came to visit. The post-exam stress of university applications had been taking its toll on his niece, and therefore she had branched out from yoga into other forms of relaxation to ease her own anxieties.

In theory, trying to meditate had seemed like a good idea: what Thorin needed at that moment was something to calm his mind, something to distract him from the morning’s events. However, a fundamental problem meant nothing but failure and frustration in practice: Thorin couldn’t control his mind, his mind controlled him. His was a crafty, mangled mind that seemed intent on fuelling his anxieties and exacerbating his fears.

How could he empty his thoughts when all that flashed before his closed eyes were flickering, colourless images of Bilbo twitching in a dark pool of water? He saw pale limbs twisted at sickening angles and wide, haunted eyes that held no more light than the grey walls they were trapped between. These pictures were undeniably stark, anchored into the cold floor of his mind by pain, and couldn’t simply be brushed away. Thorin tried to focus on the rise and fall of his chest, but the hushed sounds of his own breathing soon transformed themselves into Bilbo’s murmured words, rushing into his ears.

There could be no escaping what he had witnessed in Bilbo’s room, and the weight of this discovery sat, huge and heavy, at the bottom of Thorin’s stomach.

With Bilbo quietening as he drifted into the depths of drugged sleep, everything in Thorin had screamed at him that he didn’t want to be there when Bilbo woke again. He had dragged himself out of the chair and stumbled back to his room. When Radagast brought his lunch without a word, he had pushed his fork around the plate before giving up on the prospect of stomaching anything. And then he had dedicated his time to trying not to think… for surely it was thinking, and an excess of thinking, that was the root of all this.

Thorin tugged at a stray thread poking out from the knee of his sweatpants. Maybe he was going about this the wrong way: maybe the best distraction would be to focus his mind on something beyond himself, not trying to empty it as he sat trapped in the silent sphere of his room. He could go to the dayroom and watch the television. He had a range of menacing facial expressions he could employ so no one would bother him. Or he could –

Thorin’s heart gave an agonising jolt as Bilbo’s voice sounded out in the corridor.

He was awake, and Thorin wasn’t ready. Limbs turning to stone on his bed, he waited, and his erratic heartbeat and dry mouth were signs that his body had registered the inevitability of Bilbo’s approach. A light chuckle sounded outside his door and then the younger man appeared, grinning as he entered the room.

“Afternoon,” Bilbo greeted him, not hesitating as he pulled himself up onto the end of Thorin’s bed, hands shoved into the deep pockets of his hoodie.

Bilbo appeared so relaxed, so comfortable, that Thorin could do nothing but stare in return. There was an eerie symmetry with the morning after that terrible night when hearing Bilbo’s cries had forced Thorin onto his knees and into blackness. Radagast had cajoled Thorin into Bilbo’s room, and Bilbo had done nothing but beam at him, as if he was the only person in the world he wanted to be with at that moment. It bothered Thorin then and it bothered him now: he couldn’t reconcile everything Bilbo had been through with the easy smiles and bright look in his eyes as he waited, with saintly patience, for Thorin to continue the conversation.

“How’s your head feeling?” Thorin asked, after a few moments, trying not to flinch at how strange his voice sounded.

“Oh, much better, thank you,” Bilbo replied. “Though I am going to grump about missing lunch until dinner is served.”

This earned a small, twitch of a smile from Thorin, but did nothing to shift the mountainous weight sinking inside him. He didn’t offer an immediate response, and a look of scrutiny soon appeared on Bilbo’s face. Thorin was used to being silently assessed by Dr. Grey and Dis, but he rarely cared what conclusions the doctor or his sister made. However, with Bilbo, he was desperate to hide his discomfort… he just knew he wasn’t doing a very good job of it.

“I’ve spoken to Poppy,” Bilbo continued, when it was clear this was going to be a fairly one-sided conversation. “She’s still a bit shaken, poor girl… Sod’s law that the first patient she triggered was me, but I think I’ve talked her round.”

Thorin stiffened as the crippling sensations moved from his stomach up into his chest. He wouldn’t have expected any less of Bilbo: of course, when a nurse made a mistake and triggered an episode, he would be the one apologising. But this reaction didn’t quite inspire the fondness it may have done on any other day… and now Bilbo’s baffling cheerfulness was slowly beginning to grate on Thorin.

“Thorin?” Bilbo’s voice was gentle, and then he reached out to take his hand.

Reacting on instinct, Thorin instantly jerked his hand away, and then froze, eyes wide. He was doing a spectacularly shit job of concealing his unease.

“Sorry… I didn’t mean to…” he mumbled, his hand a horrible weight in his lap.

“It’s quite alright,” Bilbo said, smiling as his own hands retreated to the pockets of his hoodie. “I know I’ve met my hand-holding quota for today, and I should have asked you.”

And still Bilbo was being ridiculously considerate despite Thorin bulldozing their conversation. “Stop doing that,” he said, without thinking, and there had been a definite edge in his tone.

The guilt descended almost instantaneously, but Bilbo didn’t seem bothered. “Doing what?”

“Being so… understanding,” Thorin sighed, trying not to hunch his shoulders.

Bilbo had had a very difficult morning and Thorin knew he should be supporting him, trying to distract him from his own demons, not subjecting him to his very special brand of social skills. He just wished Bilbo would tell him he was being a prick and stop looking at him like the sun shone out of his arse.

“Okay,” Bilbo hummed, shifting to lean back against the footboard of the bed.

His fingers were beginning to shake again, and Thorin avoided Bilbo’s gaze, staring down into his lap. But looking away allowed the awful images to flood his mind once more, and Bilbo was writhing on a bed of concrete… Thorin didn’t have to imagine his screams: he’d heard them cutting through the night, and they filled his ears now.

“Who told you?”

Thorin’s eyes snapped up to meet Bilbo’s. His expression had grown serious and his posture was no longer relaxed, but straight and rigid as he stared Thorin down.

“Who told you why I was triggered this morning?” Bilbo asked quietly.

So Bilbo had figured it out. Of course he had. As well as the years spent reading people for a living, he seemed to have an inbuilt barometer for Thorin’s mood and he could almost certainly read his mind.

“You did,” Thorin replied, feeling the tension rising slowly but surely between them. “You were talking in your sleep.”

Apparently this wasn’t the answer Bilbo had been expecting, and his expression lost its hostility so that he simply appeared tired. Did he really think the nurses had been gossiping about him with Thorin? Radagast had confirmed his suspicions, but the nurse’s demeanour had made it clear that he wasn’t going to share any further information with him.

Flashes of frustration crossed Bilbo’s face as he remained in thought for a few moments, his gaze focused on the bedcovers, but then his eyes returned to Thorin.

“I’m still the same person I was yesterday. You don’t need to change how you act around me.”

There was a hint of pleading in Bilbo’s voice, but this was drowned out by a resentment Thorin had never heard before, and the guilt slithered back into the pit of his stomach.

“I’m sorry,” Thorin said, hoping his sincerity was clear. “I… I just hated seeing you… like that.”

Maybe he could convince Bilbo that the shock of witnessing his dissociative episode was what had caused his discomfort, and not the awful knowledge he was now harbouring. Maybe he could convince himself that things would go back to his and Bilbo’s unique version of normal, as if those whispered words had never been spoken.  

Bilbo’s smile was sad, but there was sympathy there, and no anger. “I know… I told Gandalf not to let you get involved in any of my episodes. It’s not fair on you.”

Thorin’s heart dropped into his stomach. He drew in a shuddering breath as the full meaning behind Bilbo’s words ploughed into him, knocking the breath from his lungs.

“You…” His eyes were stinging. “You didn’t want me there today?”

Ominous palpitations squeezed at Thorin’s insides as he stared at Bilbo, the hurt carving a canyon in his chest. He had always known that, despite all the support and encouragement Bilbo had given him, he had been of very little help to Bilbo in return… but now it was laid out starkly between them, like a hand of cards placed down on the bed. Bilbo had explicitly asked for Thorin to be kept away from him when he was suffering, and this rejection, this confirmation of his uselessness, brought a pain hooking onto his every nerve, blossoming through his body.

“Thorin,” Bilbo said softly. “It’s not that, I just don’t want you to suffer any more on my account, you’ve suffered more than enough.”

Thorin knew Bilbo was trying to diffuse the situation, but the damage had been done. Out of the pain, came the anger. Of course Bilbo would have some selfless and noble reason to keep Thorin at an arm’s length when he only wanted to help. And now he was holding Thorin’s pain above his own, declaring it greater than everything he had experienced, when Thorin knew his agony over the ambush paled in comparison to… Bilbo’s screams were echoing in his mind again. Grey walls. Shining water. Bilbo contorting on the floor.

“You’ve suffered too,” Thorin whispered, grimacing as his vision clouded over.

The resentment was back in Bilbo expression, and when he spoke, there was venom in his voice: “I don’t want your pity, Thorin.”

The accusation in Bilbo’s words made something inside Thorin snap, and the rage was a white-hot flash behind his eyes.

“What do you want, Bilbo?” he growled. “You want me to be the damaged, useless one…? The one who needs looking after? You want to put on a big show and pretend you’re so nice and normal… because God forbid anyone should find out that you’re just as fucked up as the rest of us!”

For one, long moment, the world was silent. Bilbo stared at Thorin, his expression completely unreadable, and Thorin stared back, chest heaving. It was just long enough for Thorin to realise what a catastrophic mistake he’d made… and then Bilbo slipped from the bed. Without another word, he walked straight out of the room.

“Bilbo!”

Lurching forward off the bed, Thorin had to grab hold of his doorway to stay upright. Bilbo had just passed the nurses’ station and was walking away down another corridor.

“Bilbo, I’m sorry!” Thorin called desperately after him, but he didn’t turn, didn’t even flinch, and soon he was gone, with Radagast discreetly disposing of some patient files and going after him.

Thorin knew everyone was staring as he took a few unsteady steps back into his room. He stood there, frozen between his bed and the door, and an awful ache slowly wrapped itself around his heart. He had really fucked up this time. Bilbo had hurt him… but was it any wonder he didn’t want Thorin near him when he was triggered? Today Thorin had discovered the truth about what brought him to the hospital, and in response he had shouted at him and driven him away.

And now Bilbo was gone…

He was gone, and Thorin was alone again…

Bilbo might never forgive him for this…

Breaths coming short and sharp, Thorin’s heart started slamming into his ribs. _Fuck. Not now. Please, not now._ But his body didn’t listen. His throat closed up and his vision took on a black, faded frame. The floor felt unsteady beneath his feet and his hands reached up to claw at his chest as a wheeze escaped him.

Thorin blinked and suddenly Rosie was before him, though she kept to a safe distance, hands raised in caution.

“Can’t…” Thorin gasped out, one hand still at his chest, his expression full of panic.

“Easy, Thorin,” Rosie said, her voice low and calm. “Let’s get you sat down.”

She gestured to the chairs by the window, still careful not to encroach on Thorin’s personal space. Thorin could only stare desperately back at her, his slippered feet stuck firmly to the floor. He needed to sit down or he was going to pass out, but his body was launching a full-blown mutiny and wouldn’t respond. His gaze was pleading as another choked breath clambered from his throat.

Rosie took a moment to weigh up her options, and then, deciding on a lesser evil, she reached out and gently took Thorin’s arm. She steered him away from the door and into a chair. Thorin let himself be manoeuvred and sank down, gratefully, into the seat, hunching as another shivering breath left him.

“That’s it, lean forward,” Rosie murmured, crouching in front of him, her hand dropping from his arm. “Deep breaths… Would you like me to count for you?”

An image of Bilbo sitting cross-legged opposite him beneath the bed fixed itself in the forefront of Thorin’s mind and he felt his stomach heave. Bilbo wasn’t here to count for him now. Thorin shook his head, screwing up his eyes.

“Okay,” Rosie said quietly. “You keep count in your head, but I’m staying right here. We’ll ride this out together.”

True to her word, Rosie didn’t move from Thorin’s side as he fought with his own laboured breaths. He found that even counting in his own head conjured too many painful memories, but luckily his hunched position seemed to make breathing easier and the black edges disappeared from his vision. Keeping his eyes focused on his feet, Thorin drew in one quivering breath, and then another. Rosie didn’t comment on the tears that were sliding down his nose and dripping, slowly, one by one, onto the floor.

“Doing really well, Thorin,” Rosie said, carefully shifting into a kneeling position, the crouch no doubt taking its toll on her leg muscles.

Exhaling, Thorin felt his stomach turn itself over again, and then a horrible choking noise left his throat. Reacting with a flash of nurse’s instinct, Rosie quickly twisted herself and retrieved the waste paper bin behind Thorin’s chair. It was placed in front of him just before he emptied the entire contents of his stomach. Gripping the bin fiercely, he continued to throw up his breakfast.

“Alright... You're alright, get it all up.” Rosie’s tone was soothing, and she was careful not to touch him, though part of Thorin wished she would… Just a hand on his arm again, or calming circles rubbed on his back. Maybe Dr. Grey would call that progress, he thought bitterly.

After his stomach could offer up no more, Thorin sat there, his whole body shaking, and stared at the mess before him as his throat burned, as if breathing hadn’t been difficult before. Letting out a pathetic, broken sound caught between a growl and a whimper, he wondered if this was what divine retribution felt like.

“I’m just going to get you some water,” Rosie explained, starting to rise to her feet.

“No,” Thorin barked out, his throat on fire. He felt his sanity was tethered to the nurse, and if she moved, snapped their cord, he would fall apart. He wasn’t sure if Rosie realised his mind had immediately locked onto her as a substitute for Bilbo.

“No problem.” Rosie turned towards the door. “Poppy?”

Thorin lifted his eyes from the bin as the younger nurse appeared, eyeing him warily.

“Could you grab us a glass of water and some tissues, please?”

“Of course,” Poppy replied, immediately moving to Thorin’s bedside table.

Her smile was genuine and eager as she poured the water, and Thorin tried not to find some terrible irony in the fact that it was Poppy knocking a glass to the floor that triggered Bilbo’s episode which had then caused their argument. The universe was a real fucker sometimes.

Poppy placed the water on the low coffee table in front of Thorin and a moment later Rosie was pressing some tissues into his hand. He missed the silent cue that prompted Poppy’s quick retreat back to the nurses’ station.

Wiping his mouth, and not acknowledging the wetness of his cheeks, Thorin dumped the screwed up ball of tissues into the bin before him.

“Would you like to lie down?” Rosie asked, after a pause.

Thorin looked up, and then registered the fact that from his position in the chair, he could see the main hub of the ward through his doorway, including the corridor down which Bilbo had fled. He could therefore easily see Bilbo returning, something he couldn’t do from his bed.

Thorin shook his head again. “No.”

“Okay… Can I get you anything?”

 _Bilbo. Bring him back_ , his mind responded. Now that his stomach had been emptied and the panic was slowly subsiding, the ache returned to take its place, settling as a weight on his chest, its sickly tendrils reaching out to the tips of his fingers and down into his feet.

“He’ll come around, Thorin.”

Thorin’s head jerked up, making his stomach shudder in protest. He studied the nurse, heartbeat in his ears again.

Rosie’s expression remained calm, her smile the mark of the nursing staff’s eternal optimism. “He’s just had a very difficult day… but he thinks the world of you. Just remember that.”

Making a non-committal noise, Thorin returned to staring into the bin. He knew Rosie meant well, but he didn’t believe her: it was her job to try and stop him from self-destructing.

With cautious movements, Rosie once again made to get to her feet. When Thorin didn’t try to stop her this time, she knew this was her permission to leave: he needed to be alone.

“I’ll be right outside if you need anything,” Rosie said, in way of dismissing herself. She then collected the bin and disappeared from the room, leaving Thorin alone with the ache.

 

 

The afternoon faded into evening, and Bilbo didn’t come back. Thorin stayed in his chair, watching the corridor, waiting for a reprieve. As the hours dragged on, he sank further into despair. Retreating inside himself, he took a wrecking ball to his mind and indulged in several masochistic acts of mental flagellation.

It was highly unlikely, with Thorin’s skills of communication and tact, that he would be able to convince Bilbo to forgive him. He had struck a low blow, he had lashed out at someone who had been nothing but patient and understanding with him. It was therefore even more unlikely that Bilbo would forgive him even if he was a master of eloquence. And what would happen then?

Thorin reminded himself that without Bilbo’s help to keep him driving forward, he would regress right back to the violent, anxiety-ridden, misanthropic mess he had been when he was first admitted. And, in the end, he would have only himself to blame. He had yelled at the one person in the hospital whom he cared for the most, and maybe Bilbo was better off without him. This thought sent the ache gnawing further into his chest, hollowing out his heart.

He needed Bilbo. He had been Thorin’s centre of gravity for months, and he had been so blissfully happy in his orbiting of him. But this dependence wasn’t returned. Bilbo didn’t need him… and he had even told their doctor that he neither wanted nor needed him.

At around six o’ clock, Rosie appeared with his dinner. She placed it on the coffee table and left. Half an hour later she returned to collect the untouched plate, offering to pop it in the microwave for him. Thorin simply shook his head.

He wasn’t blind to the fact that the nurses kept looking over into his room, murmuring quietly to each other. He wondered when they were going to stage some sort of intervention, but only a junior doctor – the small mercy of the day being the fact it wasn’t Haldir – appeared in his room and offered him a range of anti-anxieties and sedatives, sounding more like a door-to-door salesman than a doctor. Again, Thorin shook his head. If he fell asleep, he might miss Bilbo returning, and even if begging for forgiveness was futile, he was still prepared to try.

It was dark by the time Dr. Grey made an appearance at the nurses’ station, having just arrived for his night shift. The nurses spoke quietly to him whilst he shrugged off his long coat and scarf, and from the direction of their glances, Thorin knew exactly what was being explained. When the doctor wandered off to his office, he thought he might have been spared an interrogation, but today was not Thorin’s day. Ten minutes later, Dr. Grey invited himself into the room and took a seat opposite him.

“Good evening, Thorin.”

Thorin didn’t look up as he prepared his declarative sentences that didn’t involve telling the doctor to fuck off.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he stated, hoping this sent a simple enough message.

“Understood,” came Dr. Grey’s reply, but he didn’t move from the chair.

Not even attempting to hide his growl of frustration, Thorin’s eyes returned, once again, to the ward beyond his door. If Bilbo came back and saw Dr. Grey in his room, there was no chance he would even attempt to speak to him.

“Thorin,” Dr. Grey said, his blue eyes watching him intently. “Bilbo has been back in his room for some time. He returned via the dayroom corridor.”

Thorin’s stomach jerked. Bilbo was in his room. He had been sitting there for hours, and Bilbo had been next door all along. Dr. Grey wasn’t going to elaborate, but it was obvious that Bilbo had chosen this route via the dayroom so that Thorin didn’t know he had come back. That thought sent new shivers of pain shooting out from his chest.

“I would ask that you don’t disturb him tonight,” Dr. Grey continued. “I’m sure it would be much more productive to speak to him tomorrow morning, after you’ve both rested.”

The thought of having to wait until tomorrow to approach Bilbo made Thorin feel sick again. He stared at Dr. Grey, who clearly had no intentions of leaving any time soon, and decided that he might as well take his anger out on someone.

“You weren’t supposed to get me involved this morning,” Thorin said, his tone bitter. “Bilbo told you not to.”

Dr. Grey considered Thorin for a moment. “I do, of course, take my patients’ requests into account… But occasionally Bilbo needs to accept that I know what is best for him.”

Thorin’s eyebrow quirked. The doctor had been wrong in his assumptions today. “He didn’t want me there.”

“And that is no reflection on you, my dear Thorin. Bilbo cares very much what you think of him, I believe he doesn’t want anything to make him fall in your estimations.”

“What?” Thorin said, disbelief marring his features, and Fili’s words sprang, unexpectedly, to mind: _Don’t you think he was trying to impress you?_

“Bilbo has a very high opinion of you, Thorin,” Dr. Grey said, in an echo of Rosie’s words that afternoon. “However, he does not have a very high opinion of himself, and so I would ask you to tread a little more carefully when you speak tomorrow.”

Thorin knew this was his reprimanding for the way he had spoken to Bilbo, and he gave a stiff nod in acknowledgement, the guilt twisting in his stomach.

“Ah, it’s about time I did my rounds,” Dr. Grey announced, eyes flicking to the silver watch on his wrist. “I suggest you put yourself to bed, Thorin, you will feel much better for it in the morning.”

Watching the doctor leave, Thorin didn’t move from his chair. Dr. Grey and Rosie seemed so convinced that Bilbo was going to forgive him, that they could return from this… but Thorin couldn’t find comfort in their words, and so his vigil continued.

He wasn’t sure what he was waiting for now. Knowing that Bilbo was next door, with just a thin wall between them, was a new form of agony. He seriously considered going in to see him, but Dr. Grey was back on the ward now, and he would surely stop him… Even if he didn’t, Thorin would no doubt fuck things up to an even greater extent. Maybe it was best not to risk it. Thus, he never moved from the chair.

Radagast came in with a steaming mug of hot chocolate an hour later. He placed it on the coffee table in front of Thorin, smiled, and then promptly left. There were several mini marshmallows floating in the drink’s layer of foam, and as midnight approached, Thorin watched them slowly dissolve together into a white sludge.

Exhaustion was creeping into the depths of his bones, and his muscles were sore from hours of sitting in the same position, but Thorin wouldn’t move. Something was keeping him in the chair, maybe it was the desire to punish himself, maybe it was the tiny sliver of hope he had been desperately clinging to all day.

Slumping further forward, Thorin rested his elbows on his knees and pushed his face into his hands. Behind his fingers, his eyelids began to droop.

“Thorin?”

Thorin was on his feet in a second.

Bilbo was standing in the doorway, his face pale and his stance cautious. Head whirling from jumping up so quickly, Thorin simply waited, lost for words: all the things he had planned to say, all the things he had been turning over and over in his mind for hours, vanished. There was now only a single thought: Bilbo had returned to him.

They stood facing each other for a few painfully drawn-out moments and no words passed between them, but clearly their telepathy hadn’t been damaged by the day’s events. Both acting on unspoken signals, they moved in sync, meeting in the middle of the room. Thorin pulled Bilbo into a fierce hug and, in turn, Bilbo wrapped his arms around Thorin’s waist, pushing his head into his chest.

Eyes burning, Thorin pressed his chin into Bilbo’s hair, clinging to the younger man, as if for dear life. They had never embraced like this before, and Thorin couldn’t even remember the last time he had actually hugged someone. He always suffered through Dis’ fussing without returning the gesture… but this was so different. Bilbo had obviously understood his desperate need for physical closeness, to know that he was really there.

“I’m so sorry,” Thorin choked out, his fingers curling into the fabric of Bilbo’s pyjama top.

Bilbo turned his head slightly, an ear resting against Thorin’s chest. “I know you are,” he murmured, fingers gently rubbing his back.

Thorin drew in a deep, shuddering breath. “I thought you’d never speak to me again.”

Shifting in Thorin’s arms, Bilbo pulled away so that he could see his face. “What?” he whispered. “I was angry. I was angry at you… at myself… at a lot of things. But I would never do that to you. You really thought I might not…?”

Thorin avoided Bilbo’s eyes. “Disproportionate reaction.” He muttered the diagnosis.

Bilbo’s expression was pained. “I didn’t realise… Thorin, I’m sorry, if I’d known…” He let out a sigh. “Arguments happen, we might upset each other sometimes, but I promise you I will always come back… okay?”

Thorin nodded slowly.

Bilbo’s forehead came to rest on Thorin’s chest again. “Today’s been bloody awful.”

Cracking his first proper smile since that morning, Thorin glanced at the clock above his doorway. “Well, there’s only three minutes left of it.”

Bilbo let out a soft hum. “Good.”

“Would… would you like to stay for a while?” Thorin asked tentatively. His arms still encircling Bilbo implied that he didn’t actually have a choice in the matter.

“Of course,” Bilbo replied.

He took a step back and Thorin’s arms dropped to his sides.

“I’m just aware that we’re giving the night staff quite a good show.”

Colour flooded Thorin’s cheeks as he watched Bilbo go and push his door to on the nurses’ station, and several smug smiles disappeared from view.

“Now, chairs or bed?” Bilbo asked casually.

Giving an awkward cough, Thorin moved with uncertain steps towards the bed. Bilbo grinned in response. Sliding under the covers, Thorin turned to collect his blue woollen blanket for Bilbo, only when he turned back, he found Bilbo had already climbed into bed next to him.

“Oh,” Bilbo said, seeing Thorin reaching for the blanket. “Is this alright?”

“It’s fine,” Thorin said, smiling as he slid down the pillows to lie on his back.

Bilbo mimicked him, turning his eyes to the ceiling, and they laid there for some time, a few inches separating them, but still managing to soak up each other’s presence. Sensing Bilbo’s warmth next to him proved to be the best cure for all the horrific visions he had been subjected to that day. As it was more than comforting to study the real, flesh-and-blood Bilbo, Thorin kept glancing at him. He knew he was also checking that he was actually there, and he wasn’t hallucinating from fatigue and his desperation to see him again.

It was Bilbo who spoke first: “I’m glad you were there today.”

Trying to disguise his flinch, Thorin slowly turned his head towards him: he was still staring at the ceiling.

“You were like a lighthouse.”

“A lighthouse?” Thorin asked, furrowing his brow, unsure whether or not this was entirely complimentary.

“I was lost in the dark… And your voice was like a light… Flashing every so often in the blackness,” Bilbo said, his tone pensive. “I couldn’t hear what you were saying at first, but I could still follow your voice… And I just kept following it until you brought me safely home.”

Bilbo shifted position in the bed, turning onto his side to face him. Thorin moved too, becoming his mirror image. This was just how they had been lying when Bilbo had first kissed him.

“I do need you, Thorin,” Bilbo whispered. “Please don’t ever think I don’t.”

Relief washed over Thorin, dousing the anger and the pain that he had been battling with all day. He couldn’t help but smile as his body relaxed further into the bed.

“But I cut your story short,” Bilbo continued. “You never got to the interesting parts… that involve kissing.”

Thorin smiled, shuffling a little closer. “Do you want me to carry on with it?”

“Okay.”

“I’m skipping a couple of chapters,” Thorin said, with mock-seriousness. “And now we’re at the bit where we’ve had our second date, and you sneak into my room one night.”

“I like this bit.”

Thorin could hear his heart begin to boom in his ears, though not in an unpleasant way. He was still having trouble believing the turn the evening had taken, but it was time to focus on the task at hand. “You were lying on my bed wrapped in a blanket… and you were so close to me, and it was driving me crazy.”

Bilbo grinned slyly, and edged closer to Thorin in the bed.

“I was so desperate to kiss you, but I just… couldn’t… And then you figured it out… and you kissed me.”

Thorin hoped the blush creeping across his cheeks wasn’t noticeable. He wanted to make some stupid comment about being shit at bedtime stories so that he didn’t seem like such a sap, but he didn’t get the chance.

Bilbo’s lips met his, and the kiss was the easiest thing in the world. Unlike their previous kisses, this one was weighted with so much relief and remorse. It meant a million things. As Bilbo pressed their lips together, Thorin reached up to hook his finger under his chin. In response, Bilbo’s hand slipped up to Thorin’s face and his thumb began to gently stroke his eyebrow.

Breaking the kiss for a few moments, Bilbo muttered a breathy: “Alright?”

Thorin made a noise of approval and kissed Bilbo again. Bilbo’s fingers stayed touching his face for a while and then slid into his hair… and raked right across his scar. Jerking away, Thorin went rigid, staring at Bilbo with wide eyes.

“Shit! Did I hurt you?” Bilbo gasped, looking beyond mortified.

“No…” The word left Thorin in a gust. His pulse was racing and his chest was tight, but he was determined not to fuck anything else up today. “No,” he repeated. “Just… no one’s touched my scar since… And I, er, wasn’t expecting it… So…” Yes, very helpful.

“I’m sorry,” Bilbo said, his expression full of regret. “I should’ve known to steer clear of it… It was a really stupid thing to do.”

Thorin continued to breathe deeply. “No… I… I don’t mind…”

After months of obsessing over his scar and the fraction of a centimetre, and after everything that had happened that day, Thorin found himself desperate to just let some of his fears go.

“I think it would help.”

Bilbo didn’t look anywhere near convinced.

“Please,” Thorin insisted. “It really is okay… Dr. Grey would call it progress.”

Very cautiously, Bilbo moved closer to Thorin in the bed. “If you’re sure?”

Thorin nodded. Bilbo’s hand came to his face again. His touch unbelievably gentle, Bilbo traced the scar with his finger. Thorin stayed as still as stone, closing his eyes and breathing slowly. After a while he began leaning in to Bilbo’s touch. It didn’t feel particularly strange… It was just strange to acknowledge the fact that he could feel every move of Bilbo’s finger, which proved that the scar was simply part of him, and not something to be feared. Progress.

Their foreheads pressing together, Bilbo continued to languidly run his fingertips over Thorin’s scar. Thorin then reached up to rub his fingers over the back of Bilbo’s hand. They swept over the sleeve of his pyjama top and he stopped, realising what lay on the other side of Bilbo’s arm.

“You can, if you want,” Bilbo said quietly, knowing what Thorin was thinking about. A small smile appeared. “Dr. Grey would call it progress.”

With this prompting, Thorin carefully drew down the loose-fitting sleeve of the pyjama top. His thumb found the tip of the thick, jagged scar on Bilbo’s wrist and he began to lightly stroke it, closely monitoring Bilbo for a negative reaction. But none came. Bilbo continued to gently brush his fingers over Thorin’s scar, and he mirrored his movements, shifting even closer to him on the bed, feeling his breath against his lips.

And love crept in like a shy visitor who had been stood waiting out in the cold for far too long. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dis, Fili, and Kili will return next chapter!
> 
> Thank you again for all your wonderful feedback, guys. Reading your comments absolutely makes my day!


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An interlude to our love story.
> 
> Concerning Dis…

“Tell me about your sister.”

The look of intensity in Dr. Grey’s pale blue eyes as he peered at Thorin over the top of his glasses was an odd juxtaposition to his relaxed posture. Although the doctor was reclining in the soft leather armchair, his crossed legs and folded hands the picture of nonchalance, the alertness of his gaze indicated that he knew he had just asked a very dangerous question.

Thorin raised an eyebrow. “You know as much about her as I do,” he replied, before adding: “You want to know something else, why don’t you give her a ring?”

This was meant to be a barbed comment, alluding to Dr. Grey’s irritatingly frequent phone calls with Dis, but Thorin soon realised he was simply presenting himself as a pouting teenager.

“Well, you see, I am far more interested in what you, personally, can tell me about her,” the doctor said, his small smile of the kind that Thorin found especially infuriating.

Narrowing his eyes, he sat back in his chair, rubbing a hand across his beard. It was the same futile dance every single session. Thorin would try and figure out what Dr. Grey had planned: he would attempt to catch him out and block any moves towards victory, but the doctor forever remained one step ahead of him, until it was too late, and Thorin had unwillingly surrendered the information he wanted. Only after the desired reaction had been achieved did Thorin recognise Dr. Grey’s motivations. He wondered if the doctor had ever entertained the idea of going into politics, and God help the world if he did.

Admitting defeat rather earlier than usual, Thorin slid a little further down in his chair. “She knows everything,” he muttered, barely disguising his bitterness.

“Yes,” Dr. Grey said slowly, and the smile was still there. “Dis’ perceptiveness is really quite remarkable… However, this is a quality I believe you admire in your niece, Fili?”

Thorin sat up straighter. “Fili doesn’t ask questions.”

“I agree that Fili is less likely to pry than her mother, but have you considered why your sister – to use your own words – ‘interrogates’ you during her visits?”

Letting out an unimpressed huff, Thorin’s hand moved to his brow. “Okay, if this is some ridiculous attempt at family relationship counselling, shouldn’t Dis be here?”

“My concerns are a little more one-sided, I’m afraid,” came Dr. Grey’s measured reply. “I would like to explore _your_ perceptions, not your sister’s.”

Reverting to his default mode of obstinacy seemed, to Thorin, to be the safest bet, and he folded his arms across his chest. “Why?” It was a simple question, and Thorin wanted a simple answer, however unlikely it was that he would receive one.

“The conversation you had with Radagast about his military background had quite a profound impact on you,” Dr. Grey began. “I believe it allowed you to look beyond your frustrations with him and your relationship has greatly improved since.”

Thorin was sure he still glared at the cheerful nurse as much as he ever did, but maybe the simple fact of their shared status as veterans had, ever so slightly, reduced his homicidal urges. However, he had no idea what this had to do with Dis, and he thought he had better point this out: “So?”

“So, I would like to try an exercise in empathy,” Dr. Grey explained. “I want you to consider a few things from Dis’ perspective and see if you can understand why she acts the way she does around you.”

The feelings of discomfort weren’t flooding in as they usually did during Thorin’s more acute episodes. This unease was making a very gradual appearance: slowly prickling under his skin, stirring in the depths of his mind like the barely detected hints of a storm brewing. The harbingers, though faint and unclear, were there, but Thorin had already resigned himself to follow where ever the doctor was leading him.

“Alright,” he said quietly.

Dr. Grey’s eyes regained their alertness. “How would you describe your sister?”

Several less-than flattering adjectives sprang to mind, but Thorin made the conscious decision to play fair. Instead of once again pointing out her omniscience with obvious distaste, he chose a different tact: “She’s very clever… The only person in our family, apart from my cousin, Balin, to go to university.”

“Ah yes, a great achievement, considering her circumstances.”

Thorin suddenly sat forward, a glower appearing. “And what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

A flicker passed over Dr. Grey’s features. “I meant no offence,” he said calmly. “I only wished to point out that beginning her undergraduate studies with a one-year-old daughter can’t have been easy.”

Something spiked and sickly was beginning to foment in the globe of Thorin’s stomach, and the first tangible signs of a storm were gathering in the wooden-panelled corners of Dr. Grey’s office.

“Vili helped her out, so did my parents,” Thorin said, each word delivered on a knife edge.

The doctor knew he was skirting a sensitive topic, and his expression was wary, but the unspoken question still appeared in the clear blue of his eyes. It asked: _“And you?”_

Thorin’s gaze flickered to the window. “I was stationed in the Balkans at the time… Dis didn’t need me anyway; she’s always been alright on her own.”

It was the truth: Dis had forever been fiercely independent, ever since they were children. But the guilt still materialised in a heavy mist at the bottom of Thorin’s stomach.

“How did you react to your sister’s pregnancy?”

The fog suddenly turned into a solid, stony mass. “How is that relevant?” Thorin growled.

“It’s a simple question.”

“Dis has already told you, hasn’t she? You just need to hear me say it so you can write it in your little notebook.”

Dr. Grey didn’t reply. Instead, he waited.

“Look, I was twenty and I was an idiot… I get back on leave, and this scrawny kid’s knocked up my seventeen-year-old sister… So I… I punched him in the face.”

“I see.”

The doctor’s response was maddening, and Thorin felt that he didn’t see at all, and so he decided to back-pedal as fast as he could. “I know it was a stupid thing to do… and Dis gave me hell for it… But Vili proved me wrong. He did right by her and they got married whilst Dis was in her second year… Then Kili came along the year after she graduated.”

“Did you see much of your niece and nephew during this time?”

Thorin’s eyes darkened. You damn well know the answer to that question, he thought, glaring at the doctor’s neutral expression. The storm was swelling, stretching out of the stony bed of guilt that had been growing with every passing minute.

“No,” he said, his eyes flicking to the door for the first time since the session started. “Dis was busy with her teacher training… and she didn’t need me interfering.”

“And when her husband passed away?”

There were definite spikes slicing open Thorin’s insides now. Fili had been seven-years-old, and Kili only two, when Vili was killed in a car crash on his way home from work. Thorin had never heard his sister scream like that… Not even when… His fingers curled over the edge of the armchair.

“I came back for the funeral,” he stated, voice flat. “But Dis was fine on her own… She… She’s a good mother; she’s always been there for Fili and Kili.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Dr. Grey said gently, and there was some sadness lingering in his voice as he spoke. “Dis has a wonderful maternal instinct… And it sometimes extends beyond her children.”

With a jolt, Thorin finally felt he had caught up with the doctor’s train of thought and where he was trying to steer the conversation. “But I’m not her child,” Thorin said gruffly, his resentment clear. “She doesn’t need to treat me like one just because… I’m in here.”

Dr. Grey reached up to adjust his glasses. “I understand that. However, from what you’ve told me, it seems that Dis has spent the entirety of her adult life caring for others… It is very much in her nature to exercise this same care with you. She only wants to help you, Thorin.”

The storm was closer now. It was seeping in on two fronts: rising up into Thorin’s chest, and spreading out across Dr. Grey’s office, making the air feel clogged and heavy.

“I don’t want her help,” Thorin replied, and as soon as he said it, he realised how childish this sounded… and how untrue this statement really was.

As expected, Dr. Grey was more than ready to challenge him. “I wonder, Thorin, if you’re aware of how many times in the past five minutes you have asserted that Dis didn’t need you?”

The storm had reached Thorin’s heart, and it was now aching with the weight.

“As her older brother, you obviously have a protective instinct, and it is difficult to accept that there have been times when you weren’t there for her, and that regardless of that, she now feels protective of you.”

 _There have been times when you weren’t there…_ Thorin knew what was coming, but he didn’t have time to mutter a weak “Don’t” before Dr. Grey asked: “What happened when your father became ill?”

“No,” Thorin said, his lips drawn into a definite snarl. The storm’s fingers were clammy and clinging to his skin. “We’re not talking about my parents.”

“How long did you stay with Dis after your father’s funeral?”

Thorin was suddenly on his feet, staring furiously down at Dr. Grey, but he barely saw the doctor… Only Dis, gaunt and pale, with no tears left in her, on the day they had buried their dad, who hadn’t really been their dad for a good while before he was gone, and then the look on his mother’s face, the last time he ever saw her, as he slammed the car door.

“I was fighting a fucking war!” Thorin roared, shaking fists tight at his sides.

Dr. Grey was unmoved. “Thorin, please will you sit down?”

“No,” came the dangerously quiet response, and then the louder: “I’m done with whatever guilt-trip you’re trying to pull.”

He had played the sulking teenager at the start of the session, and true to this character, Thorin made sure he slammed the doctor’s office door as he stalked out into the corridor.

And the storm followed him.

It stuck to his heels and slowed him down, making him feel as if he were wading through silt at the bottom of the sea. Yes, he had been fighting a war, and then the next one that came along after that, and then the next one. He had been fighting for most of his life… but hadn’t Dis been fighting her own wars on the home front all along? For the past decade she had been a single mother of two, working in an inner city school, and doing a bloody good job of it, despite… Thorin’s heart was viciously tearing at its old wounds… and now she had been landed with a brother invalided back from Afghanistan who did nothing but resent her even when she never missed a visit and came without fail, attempting to offer comfort.

This was nothing like discovering Radagast’s demons. Extending his sphere and being confronted with the darkness in Dis’ life was bringing nothing but the horrific ache of guilt as the storm swirled on. The damage was done. Two decades of leaving his little sister to fend for herself couldn’t be undone. This somehow cut deeper than the bullet, and the words rattled over and over in his mind like the beat of a terrible train that had no destination and no end…

  _I wasn’t there… I wasn’t there… I wasn’t there… I wasn’t there…_

“Thorin?”

Thorin opened his eyes. He was back in his room, with no memory of how he had arrived there. His fingers were still pressing into his palms and his posture remained stiff and straight as he slowly turned.

“Decided to finish your session a little early?” Bilbo asked softly.

He moved from the doorway, stepping closer to Thorin, but it was obvious that he was being careful. Thorin didn’t blame him: he didn’t dare think about how terrifying he must look.

Bilbo, however, didn’t look terrified. His green-grey eyes were full of their usual warmth as he edged closer. “Feeling angry? Kind of want to punch something?”

Thorin slowly dipped his chin in confirmation, keeping his mouth firmly shut, unsure that he would be able to speak without shouting.

“Okay, I’ll just go grab Haldir.” Bilbo turned his body towards the door as he spoke.

“That’s not funny,” Thorin murmured, though he felt some of the tension slowly being shrugged from his upper body. He was both annoyed and relieved that Bilbo was managing to calm him down.

“No, it’s hilarious,” Bilbo grinned. He considered Thorin for a moment, the questions clear in the crease of concentration on his brow.

“He knew he was pushing me too far,” Thorin sighed, throat still feeling tight. “But he just kept pushing.”

“Gandalf tends to do that,” Bilbo said wryly. “You know, I broke his desk tidy once… Threw it on the floor right in front of him… There was stationery everywhere.”

“Really?” Thorin hoped Bilbo wouldn’t take offence to the disbelief in his tone, because he was genuinely impressed.

“Yeah,” Bilbo said, shrugging, not appearing to regret his actions at all. “He pushed me too far.”

They were both quiet for a few moments, Thorin unconsciously moving closer to Bilbo, hunching his once rigid posture towards him.

“So, how about we go to the dayroom and Bifur and I will teach you some swear words in Sign Language?”

Thorin frowned. He wasn’t sure he should be around other people.

“It’s great therapy,” Bilbo insisted, sensing Thorin’s hesitance. “The angrier you are, the more vigorous the sign, the better the swear… It’s actually very calming.”

“Can I see an example?” Thorin asked, with a slight upturn of his lips.

“Sure.” Bilbo made a very crude and very animated gesture with one hand. “That means –”

“Yeah, I got that one,” Thorin said, a definite smile appearing. “Okay, let’s go.”

Thorin let Bilbo lead the way out of his room, and kept the smile fixed in place, although he felt the storm tighten its grip, hooking into his skin as he walked away down the corridor.

 

…

 

“I’m sure they’re on their way,” Radagast said, poking his head around Thorin’s door. “But we can try Dis’ mobile again if you like?”

Thorin shook his head, eyes not moving from the smooth surface of the table in front of him.

“Right.” Radagast lingered in the doorway for a few seconds longer than was safe, but disappeared before Thorin could react properly.

He hadn’t slept last night. It was his first sleepless night in well over a month. The storm had kept any kind of rest at bay and he was trapped in the horrible torment of his waking hours where the guilt continued to ravage his insides. Dr. Grey had kept his distance, but the memory of their session clung to him without the need of the doctor’s presence to trigger it.

_I wasn’t there… I wasn’t there… I wasn’t there… I wasn’t there…_

The thought of seeking out Bilbo had presented itself more than once, but Thorin daren’t tell him what was really bothering him. He didn’t want Bilbo to know who he truly was, and how he had treated his own family… He didn’t want him to know he was a coward. How cruel was the irony that avoiding telling Bilbo the truth was itself an act of cowardice.

Dis was thirty-five minutes late. She was supposed to be bringing Fili and Kili straight from school, but they were yet to appear on the ward. As the seconds slid by, Thorin was sure this agonising wait was some sort of divine punishment. And the longer he waited, the surer he became that he wouldn’t even be able to look his sister in the eye.

Thorin slumped forward, the storm swirling around his feet and bending over with him, and buried his head in his hands. He wasn’t sure how long he had been sitting like this when he heard three very familiar voices sound outside his door. His body seemed to make a decision before his mind registered it, and then he was lumbering towards the doorway.

Dis, Fili, and Kili were all standing around the nurses’ station. Fili was helping her brother clip his visitors badge onto the front of his blazer whilst her mother made hurried scribbles in the guest book. Suddenly Dis’ eyes were on him.

“I am so sorry,” she said, her face looking worn and pale. “There was an incident at work and –”

“Hi, Uncle Thorin! Mum almost got punched in the face!” Kili declared, his brown eyes bright with obvious excitement.

Thorin’s heart threw itself against his ribs as he looked from his nephew to Dis. “What?”

Dis rolled her eyes as she gave her son’s shoulder a good-natured squeeze, though she still looked harassed. “I had to drag two of my Year 10s off each other in the middle of their mock exam… Parents were called, I got held up.”

“But they didn’t touch you?” Thorin asked, his heart giving a painful thud.

Dis quirked an eyebrow, giving her brother a strange stare. “No… I’m fine.” She continued to study Thorin, the scrutiny even more intense than usual. “Why? Were you planning on going to rough up a couple of teenagers?”

Thorin felt the heat rising up his neck and his mouth was dry. “No… I just…” He looked away from Dis; the guilt was reaching his lungs now.

His eyes met Fili’s, and she was watching him carefully from where she was standing behind her mother. Brow furrowed, she mouthed: “Okay?”

Thorin gave a barely perceptible shake of his head.

“Right, Kee, why don’t we head off to Radiology now so you can get what you need for your science homework?” Fili steered herself round Dis to her brother’s side. “Radagast, are we okay to go there first?”

“But I want to show Uncle Thorin my new book!” Kili cried, before Radagast could answer, and his wide, round gaze fell on Thorin.

“We’ve plenty of time for that, but homework first,” Fili said, speaking calmly and firmly.

Not one to question his sister’s authority, Kili didn’t protest again. “See you soon, Uncle,” he said, the slightest hint of a sulk in his tone.

Thorin attempted a reassuring smile and failed miserably. Fili’s meaningful look wasn’t lost on him as she manoeuvred Kili to the left of the nurses’ station, but he had no way to respond to it. He watched his niece and nephew disappear down the corridor with Radagast, and then his eyes eventually slid to Dis. She had clearly been watching him for a long time and one eyebrow was still raised.

“Shall we sit down?” she asked quietly.

Giving a short nod, Thorin moved back into his room and sat down in the chair by the window, feeling suffocated by the storm that haunted his steps. Dis settled herself into the chair opposite him; Thorin noticed that she had made no move to embrace him, and he couldn’t bring himself to look at her.

“I really am fine, love,” she murmured, after the silence became too much for her. “I’ve dealt with worse.”

This pronouncement did nothing to shift the firmly established guilt gnawing into Thorin’s stomach, and he kept his head hung low, staring into his lap.

“You know, I keep finding more grey hairs,” she continued, her tone light, with the faintest hint of strain. “I’ve told my Year 10 class they’re the cause of them, but so help me God, they will all pass their History GCSE, even if it kills me.”

Thorin lifted his eyes to find Dis pushing a few silver strands of hair behind her ear. More had fallen from the tight bun at the back of her head, but she let them stay fluttering around her face.

“So I’m not the reason for your grey hairs, then?” he asked, his voice sounding stilted and wrong. He wasn’t sure if this was an attempt at a joke, or why he’d even said it… His mind felt all disconnected and messy with sleep deprivation.

“Of course you aren’t,” Dis replied, a frown making her expression worryingly serious. “Why on earth would you –” She let out a sigh, and when she spoke again, her voice matched her expression: “Thorin, I’m not blind; I saw the way you and Fili were looking at each other… Whatever’s really going on, I –”

“I wasn’t there.”

Dis stopped, her frown deepening. “What?”

“I’ve never been there for you,” Thorin whispered, his vision growing blurry. “When Vili died… When Dad got sick… A-And Mum…”

Thorin’s hands were beginning to shake as the first cry jammed in his throat. “I’m so s-sorry…” he choked out, staring helplessly at Dis.

For a split second, Dis’ eyes widened in shock, and then in one swift and graceful motion she was kneeling in front of her brother, her hands twining with his. “Oh, sweetheart,” she said gently. “You don’t need to apologise.”

“I-I’ve done everything wrong,” Thorin gasped, another sob wracking his body, making his shoulders shiver. “I’m a shit b-brother.”

“Of course you aren’t,” Dis replied, squeezing his hands, but this assertion only made Thorin grow more frustrated.

“I s-should’ve been there, looking after you.” His eyes were burning. “I should’ve come home.”

“You were fighting for our country,” Dis said evenly. “You were where you needed to be.”

“No,” Thorin said, his lips almost white. “No… I-I…”

“Thorin, listen to me.” Dis slowly lifted a hand and cupped her brother’s cheek, making sure his eyes met hers as one finger gently brushed away a tear. “When I got the call to say you’d been injured, I thought I was going to lose you…” Her voice wavered ever so slightly and her blue eyes were shining. “I thought I was going to lose you… and I couldn’t breathe, Thorin, I –” She inhaled a shuddering breath at the memory, before fixing Thorin with a determined stare. “Everything that’s happened to us… It doesn’t matter now.”

Thorin opened his mouth, but Dis spoke over him. “I forgive you,” she whispered, and he started at the words. “But it’s in the past, and it doesn’t matter, because…” Dis’ watery eyes flickered away for one moment. She paused to breathe as her voice cracked. “Thorin, I love you… and I am so glad that you’ve come home safely to us.”

The words tolled, bright and clear, through the storm like a bell and the darkness began to dissipate. Physically exhausted and emotionally drained, Thorin crumbled. He collapsed forward against Dis, his forehead pressing into her shoulder, and sobbed. He couldn’t remember the last time he had cried like this, but now he had started, he just couldn’t stop. And so he simply let it happen.

“Shhh.” Dis made soft, soothing sounds, one hand moving to his neck, the other wrapping around his back, holding him close.

Thorin’s hands slowly reached around her, returning her embrace for the first time.

“Do you have any idea how miserable Fili was before you came back?” Dis asked, the humour breaking through the thick emotion of her voice. “She’s changed so much since she started visiting you… That’s how I figured it out, you know, that she was coming to see you. It wasn’t the timing or the questions, it was the fact that she was so much happier in herself… and picking far fewer fights with me.”

Thorin made an odd noise, between a laugh and a cry, but his smile still twitched against Dis’ shoulder.

“And Kili’s doing so well at school,” Dis continued. “He’s managing to make every single piece of English homework somehow link to you and the hospital, and it means he’s trying so hard with his writing because he knows he can get it photocopied for you.”

A quivering breath left Thorin in a long gust. Catharsis. When Dr. Grey had spoken about it, the word had sounded so cold and clinical: two vowels like flat coughs and then a hiss. But now he understood, and the word sounded like dust settling. The storm was still there, a grey mist in the corners of his vision, but it was retreating on the wind, rushed away by Dis and her forgiveness. And now he just felt very, very tired.

After a few peaceful minutes, Dis’ hands moved to Thorin’s shoulders and she gently pulled him away from her. Twisting to her right, she dragged her handbag across the floor and reached inside it, producing a small packet of tissues. Thorin didn’t complain or even flinch when she unfolded a tissue and began to carefully wipe his eyes. He stayed perfectly still and let her do this for him.

“You always did feel things so deeply,” Dis said softly, when she was satisfied that the last tear had been dried. “And don’t you ever think that’s a bad thing.”

Thorin’s mouth curved into a small smile. “Thank you,” he murmured, and there were twenty more sentences and twenty years contained in it.

Dis squeezed his hand again, mirroring his smile.

“We’re back!”

Brother and sister both jumped as Kili, in all his mop-haired and limby glory, bounded into the room, brandishing what Thorin thought was an X-ray. Fili appeared behind him and her eyes immediately went to her uncle. Thorin offered her a nod of reassurance, and she returned a relieved smile.

Dis slid back onto her seat. “How was Radiology?”

Kili didn’t seem to hear her: his eyes were locked on Thorin, his brow creased. Thorin felt his chest tighten under his nephew’s gaze, but then Kili suddenly rounded on his mother.

“What did you do?” he asked, and there was such indignation in his tone, it was almost comical.

“Kili?” Dis asked, confused.

“Mum, we’re not supposed to upset Uncle Thorin!” he scolded, expression stern.

Fili snorted, and then quickly covered her hand with her mouth. Dis shot a good-natured glare at her, before turning back to her son.

“Kili, I haven’t –”

But Kili wasn’t in the mood for excuses. He ignored his mother and spun back to face Thorin… and then suddenly he flung his arms around him, pulling him into a hug.

“Kee! We talked about this…” Fili started forward, but Thorin recovered enough of his composure to lift up a hand and stop her.

“It’s alright, mate, I promise” he said quietly, wrapping one arm around Kili’s lanky form. “I’m not upset.”

Thorin let Kili snuggle into his shoulder, and he watched as Fili carefully slipped what was definitely an X-ray from her brother’s fingers so she could show it to Dis, though her eyes, bright with warmth, kept flicking to her uncle.

Before arriving at the hospital, whenever Thorin had heard people talk about depression and illness, there always seemed to be the assumption that the aim was to return to how you were before you became depressed or got sick. There was this notion that you were happy to begin with. This had never been the case with Thorin. He couldn’t say he was particularly happy with his life before the bullet. And so it seemed he had always had a little further to go to reach this goal of happiness… but that still didn’t make it unobtainable.

Glancing through his doorway towards the nurses’ station, Thorin found Dr. Grey watching him. As their eyes met, the doctor offered a small, knowing smile. The bastard, Thorin thought, I bet this was his plan all along.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dis’ comment about how deeply Thorin feels things is courtesy of the lovely Gwydion and her spot-on review of the last chapter!
> 
> And, oh gosh, I am so looking forward to writing the next update. I promise you there is going to be SO much schmoopy Bagginshield fluff and also a little bit of something else… *heh heh heh*
> 
> Finally, I have been absolutely blown away by the response to Chapter 12: I can’t thank you guys enough. Your feedback really does brighten my day, so thanks again for always managing to put an extra spring in my step!


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little Valentine’s Day gift for you all!
> 
> In which Radagast is basically Regina George’s mom. 
> 
> And *whispers* that ‘little bit of something else’ is at the end of this chapter, enjoy!

When Thorin was twenty-three, he had an affair with another junior officer. It was brief, secretive, and one of the most intense experiences of his life. He remembered every whispered word, every burning touch. The whole thing had been bright and blinding, full of crackling electricity… and when it ended, Thorin thought himself destroyed. It had taken a very long time, years in fact, to realise that this had been a case of infatuation, not love. No, in the end, love – real love – had turned out to be rather different…

“Thorin?”

Thorin’s eyes jumped to Bilbo, sitting opposite him on the bed. Had he missed something…?

“You, er, zoned out for a bit,” Bilbo said quietly. “Everything okay?”

“Sorry,” Thorin murmured, scratching at the back of his neck, trying to hide his embarrassment. “Morning meds… Make me spacey.” Had he actually just blamed this on his medication? What a smooth move.

“I know the feeling,” Bilbo replied, grinning as he rolled his shoulders again, a hand reaching around to his back.

Thorin quirked an eyebrow. Bilbo had been incapable of sitting still since he wandered into the room. A wince twitched at his expression as he kneaded at the muscles of his shoulder.

“Bilbo, are you alright?” Thorin asked carefully, the seriousness of his tone indicating he wanted the truth and wouldn’t accept the younger man laughing it off as nothing.

Bilbo let out a long sigh, one hand still pressing at his shoulder. “I think it’s the position I was reading in last night… I may have actually done my back in.” A groan grew out of the sigh. “God, that does make me feel old.”

A soft smile appeared on Thorin’s lips. “Can’t they send you to the physio?”

“Not for something like this,” Bilbo replied sadly. “The physios are fully-booked with patients with actual injuries… I don’t think a case of extreme reading counts.”

His chest tightening at Bilbo’s obvious discomfort, Thorin’s gaze slid to the window… and then a thought occurred to him. It was, admittedly, a rare moment of brilliance, but Thorin suspected he might just have a solution.

“I could teach you some yoga poses,” he offered, his expression tentative. “I know a few that might help you stretch out the muscles in your back.”

Bilbo’s face instantly brightened. “What an excellent idea!”

With Thorin trying desperately to keep the colour from rising in his cheeks, they made their way to the dayroom to collect the two yoga mats set aside for Fili’s visits. Thorin made a point of avoiding all eye contact with the nursing staff as he and Bilbo returned to his room, rolled mats under their arms. They could smirk all they wanted: Bilbo thought this was an excellent idea, and that was doing something quite wonderful to his insides.

They stacked the chairs and coffee table in the corner of the room in companionable silence and then knelt down to roll out their mats by the window. Thorin shuffled onto his mat, resting on his hands and knees, and Bilbo mimicked his position.

“So… what’s first, Mr. Yoga Instructor?” Bilbo flashed Thorin a smile which made his stomach clench.

“Er… I…” Thorin forced himself to inhale and exhale slowly. “You know, I’m really not the best person to… Fili could help you this afternoon when she visits, she’s the real instructor.”

“Yes, but I’m not sure my poor back can wait until this afternoon,” Bilbo countered, the smile still in place. “It really is quite painful.”

Bilbo’s grimace was more than theatrical, but Thorin gave in anyway. With a cough, he flexed his fingers on the soft mat beneath him.

“Okay… Well, this is our starting pose,” he stated awkwardly. “You need to dip your back a little more, so your shoulders are higher than your stomach.”

Bilbo obediently followed Thorin’s instructions. “What’s this one called, then?”

“Cow Pose,” Thorin replied, with a slight smirk.

“Attractive name.”

“It’ll get worse.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

Thorin arched his back and lowered his head, slipping into the next position. “And this is Cat Pose.” He glanced across at Bilbo, who was now his mirror image.

“Oh… this feels better.” Bilbo stretched his back further into a curve.

“If you lean your head right down towards the floor it’ll stretch your muscles more,” Thorin explained. “See how long you can hold it.”

Bilbo had started humming as he went still, head now properly bowed… which meant he couldn’t see Thorin staring at him. Although, Thorin was, of course, only staring to ensure he was holding the pose correctly and not injuring himself further.

His mind flicking through different poses which might ease back pain,  Thorin’s stomach jolted as one particular position was flagged up. There was no denying it: it would help Bilbo stretch out his back… if he managed to stop laughing.

“Now… we’re, er, going to try Downward Facing Dog,” he mumbled.

Bilbo lifted his head. “It’s not seriously called that?”

“I told you it’d get worse.”

“Well, I’m intrigued… Let’s see it, then.”

Letting out a huff at the impending humiliation, Thorin rocked onto his heels and pushed himself up into the infamous Downward Facing Dog.

“Oh my God,” Bilbo whispered. “That’s what you were doing the day I first came into your room!”

“Yes,” Thorin admitted. “And now I’m getting my own back… Up you get.”

“Right…”

Thorin watched as Bilbo made a few failed attempts at lifting himself into the pose. He was just about to intervene when Bilbo managed it… Thorin tried to tell himself he wasn’t too disappointed at losing this excuse to manoeuvre him into the correct position.

“Like this?”

“Straighten out your back, push your weight into your hands,” Thorin coached gently.

“This feels a bit… odd.”

“Is it hurting your back?”

“No… I’m just not as, er, strong as you, I can’t hold myself up for long.”

Thorin dropped down onto his knees again, relieved that his arse was no longer in the air. “We’ll try something else.”

Bilbo gratefully sank down on his mat beside him.

“Onto your back.”

“Steady on, Thorin.”

Thorin froze at the gleeful grin that had appeared on Bilbo’s face, and his cheeks began to burn. “Not like… What… What I meant was… Please will you lie down on your mat?”

“I know what you meant,” Bilbo teased, flopping down next to Thorin.

With a good-natured growl, Thorin rolled onto his back, determinedly looking up at the ceiling, and not at Bilbo’s face. He stayed quiet for a few moments, hearing his heartbeat hammering as the heat refused to fade from his neck and cheeks.

“I’m sorry, Thorin,” Bilbo said softly. “I’ll behave, promise.”

Choosing to plough on, Thorin cleared his throat. “Right… Er, now we’ll try a left-leg bend.” He couldn’t remember the exact name of this pose, but he knew it had been quite a mouthful. “You need to bend your left leg and use your hands to bring your knee towards your chest.”

Thorin demonstrated the move. Clutching his left knee towards his chest, he looked to Bilbo, feeling the strain in his own muscles.

Bilbo was studying him with a frown. “I’m not exactly sure I’m that flexible.”

“Just try bending your left leg.”

Bilbo did as he was told.

“Now put your hands over your knee and pull it towards your chest.”

Bilbo made a few fairly pathetic attempts, but he was struggling to move his leg any closer to his chest. He let out a pitiful sound. Thorin was surprised that he may have actually discovered something Bilbo couldn’t do.

“Can you help me?” Bilbo asked, making another failed grab at his knee to demonstrate his need.

Seeing Bilbo looking this out of his comfort zone was particularly strange, and Thorin felt nothing but fondness for him. He was also quite pleased to be the one coming to Bilbo’s rescue.

“Okay.” Thorin rolled up onto his knees and moved to Bilbo’s side.

“I’m going to push your knee for you, but you have to tell me if it starts hurting your back.”

Bilbo nodded, smiling up at him in a manner that was more than distracting. Clearing his throat for what felt like the hundredth time that morning, Thorin carefully placed his hands over Bilbo’s.

“Ready?”

“Go for it.”

Thorin slowly pushed Bilbo’s knee towards his chest, watching his face for any signs of discomfort. “Okay, see if you can hold your knee there, keep your breathing steady.”

Bilbo held the pose for only a few seconds before he let go of his knee. “Dammit,” he cursed. “Sorry… Sorry, can we try it again?”

Trying not to raise an eyebrow at Bilbo’s ineptitude – again, a very new concept – Thorin’s hands returned to Bilbo’s knee, guiding it up to his chest. It was then that he noticed the definite snigger on Bilbo’s face and the glint in his green eyes… and something clicked in Thorin’s mind.

“You’re doing this on purpose,” he murmured, going very still as he leaned over him.

Bilbo was grinning now. “Yes.”

“You bastard,” Thorin let out a sigh, realising how easily Bilbo had lured him into this fairly compromising position. “You mean you’re not actually this shit at yoga? Have you even done your back in?”

“I have, actually, but this isn’t something I was anticipating when I mentioned it,” Bilbo smirked.

“You promised to behave,” Thorin replied, his voice low, face moving closer to Bilbo’s.

Bilbo’s voice dropped, copying Thorin’s: “The temptation was too great.”

The spark in Bilbo’s eyes drew Thorin in, and soon their noses were brushing passed each other, and their lips met. Thorin’s eyes slid closed as his mouth moved softly against Bilbo’s, and their fingers slowly twined together between them. Bilbo’s knee and their joined hands were a warm weight against Thorin’s stomach, and their bodies shifted even closer to each other. When Bilbo led them into an open-mouthed kiss, Thorin didn’t protest, only eagerly followed, and –

“Everything alright, chaps?”

Thorin rolled off Bilbo, his whole body jerking to the side as he collapsed onto his back next to him. His hands immediately went to his face and he shouted through his fingers: “Oh come on!”

Radagast appeared unmoved by this cry of frustration. “Can I get you anything? Tea? Biscuits? Or maybe –”

“We’re fine thanks, Radagast,” Bilbo cut across the nurse, his voice weary.

“Rightio, I’ll leave you to it,” came Radagast’s cheerful self-dismissal.

Thorin waited a few moments to ensure the nurse couldn’t possibly be still lingering in his doorway before stating: “He’s doing it on purpose.” His eyes slipped to Bilbo, seeking confirmation.

“Actually, we were due a check.”

“And you didn’t think to mention it?”

“I was distracted.”

Thorin smiled, though it soon turned into a sigh. His gaze moved back to the ceiling. “I hate checks,” he muttered. “I hate cheerful nurses.”

“And you hate this place."

Thorin quickly turned to Bilbo. “No,” he said, without hesitation. I can’t hate this place because it’s where you are. Thorin wasn’t quite ready to voice this thought, and so instead he added: “I just hate that I can’t be alone with you.”

Bilbo was studying him now, warmth in his gaze. “If we could be alone anywhere in the world, where would it be?”

A slight frown appeared on Thorin’s brow. “You’re not trying to psycho-analyse me, are you?”

Bilbo laughed. “No… I’m just curious.”

Thorin was silent for a long time as he turned over the question in his mind. He had travelled across Europe and Asia, but, in the end, he knew the place he’d take Bilbo would be far closer to home.

“Near the house where I grew up, there’s this footpath,” Thorin began, his voice low and deep. “It leads up into the woods, and barely anyone knows about it. You follow the path through the trees until they kind of thin out and there’s this hill… From the top of it you can see all the way down the valley, where West Yorkshire ends and North Yorkshire begins.”

Bilbo was watching him intently; a nod urged him to continue.

“I used to take Frerin and Dis up there. There’s this scorch-mark in the grass from an old camp fire and that was our spot. That’s where we’d sit all afternoon until it started to get dark, and we could watch the sun set over the Dales. Then we’d find the path again and hike back through the trees, down the hill until we reached our street.”

Fingers were suddenly brushing over his. Thorin didn’t look at Bilbo this time, just let the younger man slowly twine their fingers together.

“I think Dis used to take Vili up there when they first started seeing each other... It’s a nice place to be alone with someone.”

“I can picture it,” Bilbo whispered.

And then they both fell into silence. Thorin’s fingers squeezed Bilbo’s. Yes, this was different. It was quiet, without the sound and fury of infatuation. It had happened without Thorin’s notice: Love had been placed in the back pages of his mind like a small ad, and then simply slipped into established fact.

 

…

 

When Fili arrived at the start of visiting hours that afternoon, Thorin knew something was wrong. Her greeting was a little too cheerful and as soon as she thought her uncle wasn’t looking, the smile slipped from her face. At least, it seemed, they would be discussing Fili’s issues today and Thorin would be able to distract himself from the fact that, for the second time, the nurses had walked into the room to find him _on top of Bilbo_.

“Fili… Is everything alright?” Thorin asked carefully, once they had settled themselves in their usual spot by the window.

Fili seemed taken aback by the question, but recovered quickly: “Yeah… Yeah, I’m fine. Just, you know, the usual end-of-school-year stresses!”

“Fili,” Thorin pressed, his expression an obvious plea. He found it strange that, for once, he was the one trying to coax information out of someone.

Fili sighed. “Okay, I’d be a lot better if my fuckwit History teacher knew how to mark an essay!”

And there it was. “What’s happened?” Thorin said, brow furrowed.

Reaching down, Fili unzipped her rucksack with unnecessary force and, retrieving a couple of stapled sheets of A4 paper, thrust them towards her uncle. “Look at what he wrote at the bottom of my essay!”

Thorin’s eyes travelled down the page to the line of elongated red writing. It read: “You might as well have sourced this from Wikipedia.”

“And on the next page too!” Fili huffed, flicking the page over for Thorin and pointing an accusing finger at the top left-hand corner where ‘Boring!’ was written in the margin.

Thorin spotted the circled ‘C’ underneath the final, unsavoury comments. When he was in sixth-form, he would’ve cut off his right arm for such a grade, but he suspected Fili was more like her mother in this department, and she was obviously disappointed.

“I argued with him about it,” Fili said, her resentment clear. “And he gave me a behaviour warning! He actually gave a Year 12 a behaviour warning… Told me I was being hysterical. And he even threatened to ring my mum!”

“If he does, he’ll regret it,” Thorin grinned.

Fili didn’t look so sure. “Really? You don’t think Mum’ll be pissed off I shouted at him?”

“I think you’ll find your mum is the only one allowed to criticise you,” Thorin said wryly.

He was having quite a bit of fun picturing the look on Dis’ face when she read the comments on her daughter’s essay. If the teacher did ring home, he clearly wasn’t expecting to speak to another History teacher. And he wasn’t expecting Dis.

“Honestly, Fili. He tries to lay into you, she’ll tear him a new one,” Thorin insisted, rather hoping now that the poor bloke would try it and get what was coming to him.

“He really is such a knob though,” Fili groaned, slumping back in her chair. “He’s lucky I didn’t have fencing practice today or I would’ve taken my foil and –” She made a very vigorous, explanatory gesture.

Thorin couldn’t help but smile. He knew it was wrong to encourage Fili’s anger and frustration, but, this, at least, was something they had in common.

“You’ll just have to prove him wrong next time,” Thorin said, handing the essay back to his niece. Academics weren’t his strong point, and he wasn’t sure what other advice to give.

Fili stared forlornly down at the pages in her hands. “I’m just a bit gutted that this is my last essay of the year… I kind of wanted to end it on a better note.” She flicked over the page. “He gave us another question to do over the summer holidays… But I’m kind of freaking out about it. Like, he basically told me my sources are shit, but didn’t tell me where to find good ones… It’s as if he’s expecting us all to have access to university archives or something.”

A lightbulb suddenly went on in Thorin’s head. Fili needed university-level sources… and in the next room was the closest thing to a university library he had ever seen. Two moments of brilliance in one day, he was on a roll.

“Why don’t we go and talk to Bilbo about it?” Thorin suggested, trying to keep his tone casual. “He’s got loads of books in his room and, well, a Master’s degree in History. He might be able to help you get some sources.”

A huge smile lit up Fili’s face. “That… That’s actually a brilliant idea, Uncle.”

“No need to sound so surprised,” Thorin replied, though he too was smiling.

“Sorry... Do you think he’ll mind?”

Something told Thorin it might do Bilbo good to talk to someone who actually understood his love of history.  “Not at all, let’s go and ask him.”

The offending essay in hand, Fili rose from her chair. She and Thorin made the short journey to Bilbo’s room and they found the younger man sitting on his bed, scribbling away in a notebook he had open on his over-bed table. Thorin knocked lightly on the door.

“Oh, hello!” Bilbo said brightly, looking up from his work. He quickly closed the notebook, which Thorin then recognised to be the dark red leather journal he used in his sessions with Dr. Grey. “Fili, what can I do for you?” His eyes slid to Thorin as he smiled.

“Sorry to bother you, Bilbo, but I’ve… er, got a bit of a History-related dilemma,” Fili said, holding up her essay.

“Well, I guess you’ve come to the right place,” Bilbo said warmly. He slipped from his bed as Thorin and Fili moved into the room. “What seems to be the problem?”

“My History teacher’s not impressed with the sources I’m using in my essays,” Fili explained, and Thorin could hear the restraint in her voice. “So I was just wondering if you have any, er, _obscure_ books I could look at for my next one?”

Bilbo chuckled. “Of course, we’ll show him… What’s the topic?”

“The historicization of the Holocaust.”

“Hmm… Right.” Bilbo took a moment to think, his hand going to his mouth, and Thorin tried not to stare at the little creases on his forehead.

Making a noise of revelation, Bilbo went to a set of shelves by his window. After running his finger along the line of books, he retrieved the volume he was looking for and turned to Fili.

“This one has a great chapter on what the Allies knew about Auschwitz before it was liberated,” he said, handing the book to Fili. “And it went out of print in 1982.”

“Sounds pretty obscure,” Fili grinned.

Bilbo returned to the shelf and drew out another, larger hardback with flaking gold lettering on the spine. “This one is actually from the Birmingham University Library… I never did get around to returning it. I daren’t imagine the fine I’ve clocked up.”

Fili accepted the book with a laugh. She opened the cover, examining the contents page.

“The final section on Broszat and David Irving is some really interesting stuff,” Bilbo commented, moving to a corner of his room. He seemed to hesitate for a moment, and then he slowly reached up and pulled down a very slim, leather-bound volume. “And this… Well, all I can say is I’ll be very flattered if your teacher has read it.”

Balancing the books and her essay in one hand, Fili took this volume in the other. “Oh my God,” she whispered, eyes widening. “Is this your Master’s thesis?”

Bilbo smiled, lowering his head. “It doesn’t really focus on the Second World War, but pages 17 and 18 might be worth a look. I don’t mind you taking those two home, but I’d rather you ask Radagast to photocopy the thesis pages for you.”

“Of course, thank you,” Fili smiled. “I’ll go and find Radagast now…” She suddenly looked bashful. “Would you, er, mind reading my essay…? It’s just I kind of need someone to tell me my writing style isn’t beyond help.”

“I’m sure it isn’t,” Bilbo said kindly, taking Fili’s essay from her as she juggled the books in her arms.

“Back in a tick,” she said happily, disappearing from the room.

In his niece’s absence, Thorin shifted a little closer to Bilbo, watching him as his green-grey eyes moved over Fili’s essay. “Is it bad?”

“No, not at all,” Bilbo replied, turning onto the second page. “It’s just a bit… generic. But I suppose, when it comes to History, it’s very difficult to say something original.”

Thorin wouldn't know much about that, but he did know Bilbo had just helped Fili make a step towards this elusive originality. “Thank you, for letting Fili borrow your books.”

Bilbo edged back, moving closer to Thorin. “I used to mentor first years whilst I was doing my Master’s... It’s nice to be of use again.”

They were both silent for a few moments. “Why didn’t you stay?” Thorin asked, and then immediately regretted the question.

Bilbo didn’t seem fazed. “At Birmingham, you mean? Well… I had half a PhD proposal written… But then I just thought that I’d spent four years sitting quietly in a library, not really doing much, not seeing the world, and I couldn’t imagine myself sitting quietly for another three years, and then all the years after that… So, I scrapped the PhD and joined the Intelligence Corps instead, sent myself off on quite the adventure.”

Thorin’s heart ached when he thought of where that adventure had led Bilbo… but then he remembered the subjunctive history he had spoken of the day he first told Thorin about the shard of mirror and the store room. If Bilbo hadn’t given up academic life, he might still be sitting quietly in a library in Birmingham… and what would’ve happened to Thorin then? Maybe it was selfish of him, but Thorin knew he was very thankful for the day Bilbo threw down his PhD proposal and decided he was going on an adventure instead.

 

…

 

Slowly opening his eyes, Thorin rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling as his eyes adjusted to the dark of his room. After a while, he lifted his head and narrowed his eyes at the clock above his door, trying to make out the hands… It was three o’ clock in the morning.

A familiar sound had filtered through into his dreams, and he was sure this was what had woken him. He lay there in the quiet of the ward, waiting to hear the sound again… and then there it was. Bilbo was laughing in the room next to him. It was a warm chuckle that carried through the wall, and then Thorin could hear him speaking to someone.

Sitting up in bed, he tried not to notice the spike that was beginning to grow in his gut. Who would Bilbo be talking to at this time in the morning? If it was Bifur, he wouldn’t be able to hear much as they signed to each other. It could be one of the nurses, or Ori… Or it could be someone else entirely. Bilbo laughed again and Thorin’s stomach squirmed. He told himself he was being stupid, he should just lie down, turn over, and try to go back to sleep. But, of course, Thorin had never been one to follow his own advice.

He climbed out of bed and padded, barefoot, over to his door. There was no one standing at the nurses’ station and no staff in sight, so he carefully slipped from his room and went to stand next to Bilbo’s doorway, flattening himself against the wall so no one could see him. He could hear Bilbo more clearly now, and two other voices reached his ears, but they sounded strange… more distant.

It was done with comedic gracelessness, but still Thorin quickly sneaked a peek around the door before dodging out of sight again. Bilbo was sitting cross-legged on his bed with a laptop in front of him, its light illuminating his face in the dimness of the room, and the voices were coming from the screen. Thorin continued to listen… There was a female voice and a male voice, both soft and southern like Bilbo’s, but with the tiniest hint of a West Country twang.

“Prim, I’m not sure I like that smile,” Bilbo was saying.

“Well, I was just wondering about that ‘sexy’ next door neighbour of yours,” came the woman’s voice, and Thorin’s heart definitely stopped. “You haven’t mentioned him in a while, which means either nothing’s happened, or _everything’s_ happened!”

Thorin’s lungs were being crushed in his chest, and he was glued to the wall, meaning there was nothing to do but listen in horror.

It was the man who spoke next, with good-natured chiding: “Oh, Primula, leave him alone.”

“Oh my God, Bilbo, _really_? That’s fantastic!”

“I didn’t say anything!”

“Your face says it all, my love… And it really is wonderful.”

“ _Prim_!”

Thorin’s heart was given another jolt when he heard footsteps to his right. Jerking his head away from Bilbo’s doorway, he found himself confronted with Rosie and a _very_ raised eyebrow.

He didn’t have time to make any silencing gestures before she was asking: “Thorin, are you alright?”

Bilbo suddenly stopped talking mid-sentence and Thorin closed his eyes, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose. Fuck.

Prim was still speaking. “Bilbo? What is it?”

“I believe he’s standing in my doorway… Thorin?”

There weren’t enough words in the English language to explain Thorin’s level of mortification as Rosie all but pushed him into Bilbo’s room. He shuffled inside, the floor cool against his bare feet, and stood awkwardly by the foot of Bilbo’s bed, looking like a guilty puppy.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, avoiding Bilbo’s gaze. “I… er, heard voices.”

“Oh! Is that him, Bilbo? Can we meet him?” Prim’s excited voice came blasting from the screen.

“I’m Skyping my cousins in New Zealand,” Bilbo explained, smiling softly. “If you’d like to say hello?”

Thorin wasn’t sure he’d like to willingly place himself in front of Prim, and he was all too aware that this was his first time ‘meeting’ a member of Bilbo’s family, and he was very tempted to just run away… but the look in Bilbo’s eyes was encouraging, affectionate, and so he took the plunge. He came to Bilbo’s side and perched on the end of the bed so he could see the laptop screen.

“Hello, Thorin!” Prim jumped in with an enthusiastic greeting. She was a pretty young woman with pale skin and strawberry blonde ringlets spilling over her shoulders.

Her husband, a man a little younger than Bilbo, with grey eyes and curly, dark brown hair, nodded at him. “Mornin’”

“Hello,” Thorin said quietly. He was distracted by the little square at the bottom of the screen that showed his and Bilbo’s faces… He didn’t exactly look his best, and rather terrifying perhaps, but he supposed there was very little he could do about that now.

“Thorin, this is my cousin, Drogo, and his wife, Prim,” Bilbo said, making the introductions. “Drogo, Prim, this is Thorin.”

“We’ve heard so much about you!” Prim commented, with what Thorin thought was unnecessary volume.

Thorin had no idea how to reply, and he didn’t want to admit that Bilbo had told him very little about his family.

After what was most definitely an awkward silence it was, unexpectedly, Thorin who tried to rescue the conversation: “All good things, I hope,” he said, attempting a smile.

“Of course!” Prim replied. “Though when Bilbo was waxing poetic about how handsome you are he didn’t quite do you justice!”

Thorin’s eyes widened.

“Prim, I swear I will shut this laptop right now!” Bilbo gasped, his embarrassment clear.

“What? It’s a compliment… I’m sure Thorin doesn’t mind me saying?”

Thorin’s eyes flicked to Drogo, wondering if he was about to be strangled through the screen, but the dark-haired man only looked apologetic.

Suddenly a baby’s high-pitched cry sounded from the screen, making Thorin jump.

“Oh, Frodo's awake,” Prim sighed, peering behind her.

“Is it any wonder with you shrieking like that?” Drogo commented, making to rise from his chair.

“No… No, I’ll go, he’ll need a feed, anyway,” Prim replied, batting her husband back into his chair. “We may have to call it a night, Bilbo, my love.”

“A terrible shame,” Bilbo said, grinning.

“Well, it was lovely to meet you, Thorin,” Prim said, as the baby continued to wail in the background. “You take care of Bilbo, for us.”

“I will,” Thorin said earnestly, managing a smile.

“You look after yourselves, both of you,” Drogo said, warmth in his grey eyes. “Speak soon, Bilbo.”

“Speak soon!” Bilbo waved at the screen and Prim and Drogo waved back, before keys were hit and the screens vanished.

Thorin sat quietly at Bilbo’s side, not daring to say anything.

“I… I’m just going to return this to the nurses’ station,” Bilbo said, closing the laptop. He didn’t wait for Thorin to comment before he was sliding from the bed and walking briskly from the room, laptop under his arm.

Waiting in Bilbo’s room, Thorin’s mind was turning over everything Prim had said… Had Bilbo really told her he was handsome? _Sexy_? The words didn’t seem to fit somehow, but their existence was still tying his stomach in knots.

“I’m really sorry about that.”

Thorin looked up as Bilbo stepped back into the room. “It’s my fault… I shouldn’t have been, er, eavesdropping.”

Bilbo climbed back into bed next to Thorin, and then began rooting through his bedside drawer. When he turned back, he was holding a small wad of photographs.

“This is Frodo,” he said, a touch of pride in his voice as he handed the photographs to Thorin.

A smile spread across Thorin’s face as he looked down at the picture of a tiny baby swaddled in a blue blanket, with one curl of dark brown hair flicked on his forehead. Thorin slowly looked through the photos, some of just Frodo, some of him with a grinning Prim and Drogo. Thorin thought of all the pictures Dis and Fili had brought him and the collage that was slowly making its way up one of his walls, along with Kili’s notes and photocopied pieces of homework. He lifted his eyes to meet Bilbo’s.

“Why don’t you put these up on your wall?”

Bilbo’s smile faltered. “Ah… I’m going to have to leave that one to your imagination, I’m afraid,” he replied carefully, holding his hands out for the photographs.

Thorin watched Bilbo’s back as he stored the pictures away in the drawer, realising he’d definitely ruined the moment.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

Bilbo shook his head. “Don’t worry about it.”

They sat in silence for a few moments, the air heavy between them. Thorin knew that he could either let the discomfort take over… or he could take Bilbo’s mind off it by getting his own back and embarrassing him.

“So…” he said casually. “You think I’m handsome?”

Bilbo groaned. “I’m going to _kill_ Prim!”

Thorin moved closer to Bilbo on the bed, mischievous grin in place. “You think I’m handsome and _sexy_.”

Bilbo mimicked Thorin’s movements, a beautiful blush creeping into his cheeks. “Well, maybe I do.”

“And you thought that even when I’d first arrived and was all haggard and scary, and trying to strangle doctors with their stethoscopes?”

“What can I say?” Bilbo said, with a laugh. “I like my men tall, dark, and homicidal… Why on earth do you think I joined the army in the first place?”

Bilbo was still chuckling when Thorin kissed him. He was still for only a second before his lips melted into the kiss. They slid down the pillows, and Bilbo reached for his bed covers, pulling them up and over the two of them, all the while keeping his mouth pressed firmly against Thorin’s.

This was the kiss that had been interrupted the previous day, and Thorin was determined to pick up where they left off. The tension of that episode was easily resurrected and it burned fervently between them as Thorin opened his mouth, feeling Bilbo’s breath hot against his tongue. As he was doing rather well at this first-move business, Thorin thought he’d give boldness another go. He slowly slipped his arm around Bilbo’s waist and pulled the younger man towards him. Bilbo responded with a pleased hum against his mouth, and his hands moved into Thorin’s hair.

Pre-empting Bilbo’s next move, their kiss had only just been broken when Thorin was grunting an impatient “Fine” and capturing Bilbo’s lips again, with renewed vigour, relishing the muffled moans that were sounding deep in the other man’s throat. Thorin fanned out his fingers against Bilbo’s back and tightened his hold on him, pressing their bodies together once more and… Oh.

Thorin’s lips left Bilbo’s as an unpleasant heat rose up his neck. The faux-neutral expression on Bilbo’s face told him he had also realised _what_ was pressing into his stomach.

“Sorry,” Thorin muttered, rolling away, his hand retreating from Bilbo’s back as the embarrassment washed over him. Honestly, they could have only been kissing for a few minutes, if that. “Worse than a teenage boy,” he continued to mumble, avoiding looking at Bilbo.

“It’s fine, really,” came Bilbo’s reply, his voice low. “I’m very flattered.”

Thorin let out a frustrated sigh, one hand going to rub at his temple. “Just… Just give me a minute.”

When Bilbo didn’t answer, Thorin risked a glance at him.

“Or…” Bilbo said, his tone worryingly careful. “Alternatively, I could…”

The offer was in Bilbo’s expression, and it sent Thorin’s mind spiralling into absolute chaos. He had never realised it was possible for his thoughts to be screaming both “YES!” and “NO!” at the exact same time. It was like having a crowd of people inside his head all yelling different things, and it was so difficult to separate out the voices.

He wanted to… of course he did, and just the mere thought of Bilbo touching him was almost enough to send him over the edge right there and then… But this was also a terrifying prospect. He was doing exceptionally well at overcoming his issues with physical intimacy, but would this be just too _intimate_ for him to cope? What if it triggered a panic attack? What if him panicking triggered Bilbo? What if it didn’t trigger anything but the nurses and the other patients still _heard_?

Whatifitdidtriggersomethingandeveryoneheardandcameinandfoundhimand…?

“Hey… Thorin, come on, come back to me.” Bilbo’s hand slowly moved over Thorin’s beneath the covers.

Pulled from the pandemonium inside his head by this gentle coaxing, Thorin turned to Bilbo.

“We’re not due a check for forty minutes and nobody is going to come into the room,” Bilbo said gently. “But if this isn’t something you want, that’s okay.”

Thorin inhaled deeply through his nose. I do want this, he thought, I do, I do, I do…

“Is it something you want?” he asked, tone serious… careful.

Bilbo smiled. “Very much.”

Thorin’s heart began an unsteady thump. “What if somebody hears?”

There was a glint in Bilbo’s eyes as he edged closer to Thorin. “We’ll just have to be very quiet,” he whispered into his neck.

Thorin shuddered at the heat of Bilbo’s breath against his skin. “Okay.”

He turned his head away, closing his eyes, hoping that somehow this would help to settle the chaos of his thoughts. Miraculously it seemed to work: his mind went quiet, and the room was quiet, and all that was left was the anticipation, which made something tight coil in his gut.

He waited, chest rising and falling in an unsteady rhythm, and then he felt Bilbo’s fingers leave his. They moved to his hip and then a hand was cupping him through his pyjamas. Thorin hissed at the contact, but stayed perfectly still, relishing the delicious heat of Bilbo’s hand, which didn’t move, just lay heavily on top of him.

After a few moments, Bilbo shifted and, lying on his side, aligned his body with Thorin’s, pressing a soft kiss to his shoulder… and then the hand began to move, slowly rubbing Thorin through the fabric. It took everything he had to keep the moan behind his lips, and he arched his neck, pushing his head back into the pillow.

Another kiss fell against his shoulder, and Bilbo continued to palm him, his rhythm picking up ever so slightly. The coil was growing tighter now, heat rising and spreading out through Thorin’s entire body… and breathing was starting to get tricky. He had no idea what to do with his hands, and as he couldn’t reach for Bilbo without breaking their contact, his fingers grappled uselessly at the sheets beneath him.

Anxiety kept trying to creep into the scene, but it was batted away by a well-timed kiss to the shoulder or collar bone, and the increase of pressure elsewhere, as if Bilbo really could read Thorin’s mind.

A grunt escaping him, Thorin started pushing himself into Bilbo’s hand. It was both not enough, and too much, and not enough. Daring to speak, he muttered a breathy “ _Bilbo_.” It was a plea, and it was taken as such.

With agonising but intoxicating slowness, the hand moved away. Thorin’s t-shirt had ridden up, and so Bilbo’s fingers trailed over the smattering of dark hair on his trembling stomach before sliding below the waistband of his pyjamas. Bilbo took Thorin in his hand, making the older man suck in a breath, arching his neck again.

As Bilbo began to stroke him, Thorin found himself hanging over the edge of a precipice as the coil contracted even further. He knew what was going to happen and God, he was almost there, but the panic was fighting to flood back in, to carry him away… Bilbo kissed his shoulder, sped up his pace… His fingers were curling over the edge… A thumb was brushing over a very sensitive spot… The anxiety crashed furiously against the bolted doors of his mind… All he had to do was let go…

Thorin arched his back up off the bed, and then Bilbo’s mouth was against the bare skin of his neck. His jaw clenched, he let out a strained: “ _Close_.”

And he was… The coil was almost as tight as it could go… Only a few fingers left clinging to the precipice… His chest was heaving… His heartbeat was knocking at his ribs with a frenzied, uneven rhythm… And Bilbo’s hand around him was determined and relentless… And… And…

Free fall.

Thorin crashed down with a cry that was muffled by a fist which some still-functioning part of his brain had lifted to his lips. In the daze that followed, Thorin never felt Bilbo’s hand leave him. His brain was desperately trying to sort through the sensory overload and register what on earth had just happened. His whole body felt blissfully boneless, though his limbs still shuddered with the aftershocks, which were continuing to make breathing rather difficult.

Audibly wheezing, Thorin turned his head to Bilbo, still lying on his side next to him. His mouth tried to form a few words, but Bilbo shushed him.

“You focus on your breathing,” he whispered, his voice edged with fatigue. “I’m just going to clean you up.”

Thorin tried to make a weak form of protest, but Bilbo shushed him again. He felt the mattress rise as Bilbo slipped from the bed and he heard him pad around to the little sink in the corner of his room.

“Good thing Radagast leaves these flannels here,” Bilbo said wryly, running the taps.

“Really don’t want… to think about Radagast…” Thorin said, his voice sounding thick, almost drugged.

He was still struggling to form a coherent thought and his mind was finding it difficult to catalogue his body’s different responses, so it simply drew a blank… Instead it decided it was a good idea to start reminding Thorin of the pleasure of the episode, replaying it in his head, which was not at all helpful.

The duvet was suddenly pulled away and Bilbo appeared at Thorin’s side with a wet flannel.

“I can do it,” Thorin insisted, moving to sit up, sounding more like himself again.

“Thorin,” Bilbo said gently. “Your hands are shaking.”

“Please,” Thorin said, becoming defensive, hoping Bilbo wouldn’t argue with him on this.

Bilbo pushed the flannel into Thorin’s hands. “Okay, but I’m getting you a new t-shirt.”

Thorin gazed dumbly down at his pyjama top. “Oh.”

“Yes,” Bilbo grinned. “Back in a moment.”

In the darkness of the pre-dawn, Thorin slowly set about cleaning himself. His hands – that were indeed shaking – felt oversized and useless, but he persevered. His breathing was growing steadier now, though his heartbeat continued its near-painful drumming against his chest… and his mind was still sparking his nerves in a very pleasant and inconvenient way.

After a few minutes, Bilbo wandered back into his room, a fresh t-shirt clutched in his hand. Thorin was waiting patiently for him, legs hanging over the side of the bed. Without a word, he pulled his top off over his head, mussing up his hair on one side. He reached for the t-shirt, but Bilbo held it away from him.

“Wait… I just need thirty more seconds,” Bilbo grinned, his eyes unashamedly travelling over Thorin’s bare torso.

Although this made a certain giddiness wriggle in Thorin’s stomach, it was drowned out by the embarrassment crawling up his neck. “Bilbo.”

“Alright, sorry.” Bilbo handed Thorin the t-shirt and, taking the old one, depositing it in his laundry basket without further comment.

Now he was fully-clothed, Thorin’s hands automatically reached for Bilbo’s. Bilbo twined their fingers together, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, and moved forward so that he was standing between Thorin’s knees. Their eyes were almost level, but Thorin hunched forward, with exhaustion more than anything else, and pressed his forehead against Bilbo’s chest, letting out one long breath. A hand appeared in his hair and Bilbo tenderly kissed his forehead.

“Thank you,” Thorin murmured.

As if he couldn’t help it, Bilbo let out a chuckle. Thorin heard its soft rumble inside Bilbo’s chest and then he was laughing too. It was a ridiculous situation and neither of them could quite believe the turn the night had taken, but that didn’t make it any less wonderful.

Once their laughter had petered out, a comfortable silence wrapped itself around them. And in the quiet Thorin thought how love didn’t hold the noise and agony of infatuation… but that didn’t stop the occasional burst of blinding light and electricity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Four things!
> 
> Firstly, ‘Obstacles’ now has fanart! Please do go and check out this gorgeous piece of artwork by the simply superb AmbiguouslyGayBagginshield which you can find here: http://majesticbagginshield.tumblr.com/post/110280785799/fanart-for-a-remover-of-obstacles-my-favourite
> 
> Secondly, I’d like to thank the lovely Berunien for the prompt for the yoga scene at the start of this chapter – I hope it didn’t disappoint, honey!
> 
> Thirdly, I’m a little bit of a newbie with this, but what are our thoughts on the fact that even though nobody said the word ‘cock’, the fic should now be bumped up to a ‘Mature’ rating? 
> 
> Fourthly, you guys… the response to Chapter 13 was bloody amazing! I can’t believe how many of you let me know your thoughts on the chapter and this fic. Honestly, there were so many times when I was almost sobbing over my phone at work – I believe my colleagues are all very worried about me, but no matter, I’m still so over the moon that people are enjoying this fic. Thank you all so much, I think 2015 is going to be a good year!


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think it’s about time we met another member of the Company…

The sun was everywhere, although the light still seemed to be slanted at odd, unfamiliar angles. Thorin squinted against the brightness, and sleep slipped slowly from him like someone drawing back a cover. Sounds filtered into his ears: cheery greetings, the clacking of files, and the distant ring of a telephone. It seemed that, rather unexpectedly, the ward had woken before him this morning.

Pressing the side of his face further into the pillow and letting out a low groan, Thorin suddenly became aware that he was being watched. He cracked open one eye, and started. This wasn’t his room: that was why the light felt different. And this wasn’t his bed. Its usual occupant was lying next to him, studying him with a soft smile of amusement.

“Good morning,” Bilbo said quietly.

“Uh… Morning,” came Thorin’s reply, his voice rough and sleep-scratched.

He shuffled up onto one elbow and rubbed at his beard. The clock above Bilbo’s door told him that it was just past eight in the morning. He could’ve only been asleep for four hours or so, but he still felt as if he’d been out for days. It had been the kind of erasing sleep where he had forgotten his own name and where he was, and almost everything about himself.

Bilbo was still watching him as he pulled himself into a sitting position, the bedcovers wrapped around his legs. He was aware that this was very much a lie-in by his and Bilbo’s standards, and they had never shared a bed after dawn: Bilbo was usually the one to sneak away in the grey light before the hospital stirred. Therefore, Thorin was sure he had overstayed his welcome, and he didn’t want to give the nurses something else to gossip about.

“I’ll go,” Thorin said, avoiding Bilbo’s gaze, moving to swing his legs over the side of the bed.

“Thorin,” Bilbo said gently, and it made him stop. “Rosie came in about ten minutes ago. She commented on your snoring, so I rolled you onto your side… The jig is up, I’m afraid.”

“Oh.” Thorin was no longer surprised by Bilbo’s telepathic abilities; it was just frustrating that he hadn’t quite managed to make it flow both ways. “So… you want me to stay?”

“I’m not going to hold you hostage, but yes, I would like you to stay.”

Thorin’s stomach did an unreasonably giddy flip, and he found himself smiling as he lay down again, settling against the pillows. He rolled back onto his side, one hand under his cheek. “I was snoring?”

“Like a hibernating bear… It was quite cute really.”

Thorin was sure this was the first time in his life anything about him had been called ‘cute’, and he supposed he should be offended, but he couldn’t quite manage it. “And how many hibernating bears have you shared a bed with?” he asked wryly, edging closer to Bilbo, closing the distance between them.

Bilbo echoed his movements. “Well, there was that grizzly in 2006… And the giant panda I met at a New Year’s Eve party. He was definitely a mista –”

Thorin kissed Bilbo just to stop him talking. The younger man made a huff of surprise, but didn’t protest any further. It was a lazy, morning kiss. Effortless, and just a gentle, slow meeting of lips, and Thorin found he was rather enjoying breaking through this barrier… Celebrating it, almost. He decided it was very nice to finally be able to make the first move. He was about to wrap an arm around Bilbo’s waist, when his mind flashed up a warning sign… and the events of that morning slammed into him, being replayed before his eyes in a riot of sensation and colour.

He broke away from Bilbo and drew his hand into his chest. Had all that really happened…? All of sudden he could feel Bilbo’s hands on him and his body was, once again, reacting very inconveniently. His mind raced through the scene, stopping and starting at certain moments, and then he could see himself leaning lazily into Bilbo’s chest afterwards… He had almost fallen asleep there, but he could vaguely remember being guided to lie down and then, for all intents and purposes, being tucked in, before drifting off.

A weight sank in Thorin’s stomach. He was many things, but he had never thought of himself as a selfish lover. Yet, he had most certainly perpetuated a cliché and fallen asleep as soon as he had cleaned himself up. Thorin met Bilbo’s eye with a look of remorse.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, lowering his gaze, as if to emphasise his regret.

“Thorin, you’ve been awake for all of six minutes,” Bilbo said, with good-natured chiding. “How on earth have you already found something to apologise for?”

Thorin attempted to clear his throat with an uncomfortable cough. Talking about sex was not something he found easy, but then again, _talking_ wasn’t exactly something he found easy. “Last night… I fell asleep. I didn’t even offer to… to, er, _reciprocate_.”

A shadow passed over Bilbo’s face. “Oh… Well, these things happen, don’t worry about it.”

There had been something strange in Bilbo’s voice, and the answer came in a flash of understanding. “You… didn’t want me to?” Thorin asked carefully.

For a moment, he thought Bilbo was going to lie to him, but although the slightly strained smile stayed in place, the answer was honest: “No. Unfortunately, I’m a bit complicated in that department.”

Images of Bilbo twitching on a grey, water-logged floor suddenly burst before Thorin’s eyes and his chest felt unbearably tight. This must have shown in his expression, because Bilbo added, in a lower tone: “I am all present and correct down there… And everything’s in working order… I suppose I just struggle with, er, that side of things.”

Thorin knew Bilbo was intimating that his issues weren’t physical, but this meant there was something psychological holding him back… He thought of how Bilbo had shut him down when he asked about the photographs last night, but he hoped that just maybe, this time, Bilbo would lower his guard.

“Will you tell me?” Thorin asked, his voice no more than a whisper.

He expected some sort of refusal, but a refusal in Bilbo’s own discreet, kind-hearted way. Bilbo studied him for a few moments, as if weighing up his response, and then he spoke, his voice equally quiet.

“When I first came here, I had the same issues as you when it comes to physical contact… Only, it was a little more severe in that I interpreted any form of touch as physical pain.”

Thorin held the breath in his throat, not daring to say a word, trying to ignore the sudden ache in his heart.

“But, with some pretty intensive therapy, I recovered from that fairly quickly… Most things slotted back into place, but when it came to being really physically intimate… Well, there was just no space in my mind for it. I wasn’t interested, so I simply didn’t tackle that issue. Gandalf wanted me to talk to someone about it, but I didn’t really see the point… I was in here, I didn’t have a partner… I guess I didn’t want to deal with another doctor on top of my oh-so busy schedule.”

The corner of Bilbo’s mouth twitched into a smile. Thorin tried to return it, but he was still battling with the growing pain in his chest… and the disbelief swilling in his stomach, conjured by the fact that Bilbo was opening up to him and he didn’t want to say anything that might make him retreat back inside himself.

“And then they went and put this stunning, six-foot Adonis in the room next door,” Bilbo continued, a small smirk appearing.

Thorin felt heat crawling up the back of his neck, and he looked away from Bilbo. He had tried not to show his disappointment that Bilbo didn’t appear to be a sexual person, but now it seemed he was, in fact, a proverbial spanner in the works.

“So… you, uh, are _interested_ again?” Thorin asked, feeling like a clueless teenager, but doing his best to follow Bilbo’s line of thought.

Bilbo was smiling at him now. “Yes.”

Thorin waited, but Bilbo didn’t offer further comment. His tongue feeling heavy in his mouth, Thorin tried again, hoping he wasn’t annoying Bilbo with his questioning: “But… you still don’t want me to…?” Thorin trailed off, reminding himself that a hand gesture would not be a good substitute. And Christ, he was actually blushing. Why was he finding this so difficult?

“I think there are a few things I need to work through first,” Bilbo said quietly, and there was sadness creeping into his voice. “And I am sorry about that.”

Thorin’s eyes widened at Bilbo’s apology. “You… You don’t need to be sorry,” he said, wishing he had been more firm. “I understand… and thank you, for telling me.”

Bilbo was starting to look uncomfortable, and when the slightest hint of shame crept into his expression, Thorin reached out and gently ran a hand up his arm. The panic had caused him enough problems last night; he could only imagine how difficult Bilbo might find such a situation after everything he had been through. Now he only wanted Bilbo to know that it was alright, and this didn’t matter one bit to him… He just didn’t have the words to say it, so he settled for touching his forehead against Bilbo’s and rubbing his thumb soothingly over his shoulder. He felt Bilbo relax, and the relief this brought eased some of the aching in his chest.

“Okay, boys, hands where I can see them!”

Thorin’s hand jolted against Bilbo’s shoulder, and they turned towards the door in unison as Rosie entered the room, carrying two plastic pots containing their morning medication.

“Was that comment really necessary?” Bilbo asked airily, pulling himself up, leaning against his headboard.

The curly-haired nurse arrived at Thorin’s side, but her grin was clearly for Bilbo. “Well, if you will insist on making heart-eyes at Thorin while he sleeps, what else am I supposed to say?”

Thorin’s stomach flipped again as he gave Bilbo a side-ways glance. The younger man definitely had a faint red appearing in his cheeks.

“Judas,” he muttered, taking his pot from Rosie.

Thorin let Rosie press the pot into his hand. He refrained from eyeing the pills at the bottom of it and simply tipped his head back, swallowing them in one go, before opening his mouth for the nurse’s obligatory check.

“So, are you up for second breakfast in bed?” Bilbo said, nudging his shoulder against Thorin’s.

“Oh, I don’t think so,” Rosie commented, taking Bilbo’s pot. “You’re both going to have breakfast by the window and I’m going to change these sheets.”

Thorin froze and stared at the nurse, barely able to contain his horror. He thought he had been mortified before, but this was a whole new level. Bilbo’s hand crept over his beneath the covers and he gave his fingers a little squeeze.

“And I believe you have traumatised us enough for one morning, thank you, Rosie,” Bilbo said cheerily. “If we could just get our breakfast menus…?”

“Alright, alright,” Rosie replied, turning behind her, muttering something about ‘being a nurse, not a maid’. She presented them both with their menus and then, after inflicting one last sly smile, she left the room.

Thorin remained motionless, staring after her, the menu slotted into his hand. Bilbo squeezed his fingers again, as if to snap him out of it.

“She knows,” Thorin murmured, not quite able to look Bilbo in the eye.

“It’s something you have to learn the hard way,” Bilbo sighed. “But yes, around here, the nurses know _everything_.”

 

…

 

The early afternoon found Thorin still in Bilbo’s room, with very few intentions of leaving. Breakfast had been consumed by the window, and Thorin had completely ignored Rosie as she went about changing Bilbo’s bedding. Lunch had also been eaten, and now Thorin was sitting cross-legged behind the door, back against the wall, with Bilbo’s head resting on his right thigh as they both read their respective books in easy silence.

It had been Bilbo’s idea. Thorin needed at least the illusion of privacy to feel more relaxed in the daylight hours, and hidden behind the door, he somehow felt he was safe from the nursing staff’s omniscient gaze. They had started reading in similar positions, but then they had gradually gravitated towards each other, with Bilbo slipping down the wall and making himself comfortable. His head was now a reassuring weight on Thorin’s leg as he lay, stretched out, parallel to the wall. Thorin had asked Bilbo several times if he was genuinely okay with lying on the floor, but he had batted his questions away with a few noises of nonchalance.

Turning another page, Thorin furrowed his brow. He was reading a book by Hannah Arendt: one of Bilbo’s recommendations which he would soon be lending to Fili to help her with her essay. Thorin had asked Bilbo to give him a crash-course in historicization so that he could at least talk to his niece about her A-levels, and maybe be of more use the next time her History teacher thought about desecrating one of her essays.

“So… Is Arendt an intentionalist or a functionalist?” he asked, peering down at Bilbo’s mop of curls, hoping he was using the terminology correctly.

“That’s quite a good question, actually,” Bilbo replied, shifting against Thorin’s leg as he closed his book. “Officially she isn’t either, but –”

Bilbo stopped when an unfamiliar voice sounded outside the door, coming from the nurses’ station. He glanced up at Thorin, raising a surprised eyebrow and Thorin returned a look of concern.

“Sir, I’m afraid visiting hours aren’t until later today, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

That was Poppy speaking, and there was a noticeable hint of agitation in her voice.

Bilbo was suddenly pulling himself to his feet, and Thorin followed suit, going to stand next to him in the doorway. The young, befreckled nurse was staring down a rather menacing looking man. His forearms, which were crossed over his chest, sported several black-inked tattoos.  His facial hair and strikingly bushy eyebrows matched his dark auburn hair, which was undercut and swept to one side.

“Look, sweetheart, I’m on a bit of a tight schedule,” the man replied. “I just want to see my brother.”

“We’re not allowing any visitors to see patients at this time, Sir, I’m sorry,” Poppy said firmly, and Thorin was impressed by her resolve: she was definitely finding her feet.

“I only need a couple of minutes,” the man insisted. “Please, it’s Ori Rison, they told me he was on this ward… I need to see him.”

Poppy did very well at masking her flinch, but Thorin wasn’t sure he was so subtle. He turned to Bilbo at his side. “Ori’s other brother,” he whispered. “Isn’t he supposed to be in prison?”

Bilbo was frowning, his eyes trained on the visitor, as if taking in everything about him. It was an almost calculating look.

“Has he… er, escaped?”  Thorin murmured, aware that he was now thinking aloud.

“No,” Bilbo answered, shaking his head. “He’s not stupid enough to turn up at a busy hospital if he has.”

Thorin’s eyes returned to Ori’s brother. Poppy had been joined by a junior doctor, who was discreetly asking another nurse to page Dr. Grey.

“My apologies, Sir, but it really wouldn’t be appropriate for you to see Ori at this time,” the doctor explained, with obvious caution.

“Not _appropriate_?” the man barked, slamming his hands down on the nurses’ station. “But I’m his fucking brother!”

Thorin felt the hairs on the back of his neck bristle and he took a step out of the doorway. It was a bizarre protective instinct, but something in him didn’t like the man’s threatening behaviour. He turned to see if Bilbo had copied him, and then started. Bilbo wasn’t there. Thorin glanced back into the room, but it was empty. Bilbo had actually managed to slip away without his notice.

“This is Dori, isn’t it?” the man growled. “He’s fed you some bollocks about me, told you not to let me see my own brother!”

“Sir, I need you to calm down,” Poppy said, her tone stern. “I can assure you we are acting in your brother’s best interests.”

“Like hell you are!” came a frustrated snarl.

“I’m calling security,” the junior doctor announced, picking up the phone to her left.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” The man suddenly stared wildly around the ward, and his eyes passed over Thorin for a split second. “Ori! … ORI!”

The man’s cries for his brother cut straight through Thorin and his hand shot out to clutch the doorframe.

“ORI!”

“Sir, I need you to stop shouting, you’re going to upset our patients,” Poppy said, glaring across the desk, as the doctor hung up the phone.

The man opened his mouth to call out again, but then he stopped, and Thorin’s heart jerked against his ribs. Bilbo had returned, and he had brought Ori with him.

“Ori!”

Before anyone could stop him, the man was bolting around the station and rushing to his brother. Ori’s whole face lit up as his brother reached for his shoulders and pulled him into a hug. Thorin was certain he had never seen the teenager looking so happy. At first he had been shocked that Bilbo would purposefully go against the wishes of the hospital’s staff, but now he knew he should have never doubted him for a second: the love between the brothers was emanating from them for all to see.

“N-Nori!” Ori gasped out, his eyes shining. “W-What are y-y-you… d-doing here?”

Nori pulled away from the hug, but kept his hands on his younger brother’s shoulders. “I got out this morning… I knew they wouldn’t tell you!”

The junior doctor and the nurses were closing in on the brothers, with Bilbo still standing at Ori’s side. Thorin knew hospital security guards were going to turn up at any moment, and Bilbo and Ori would be right in the middle of the impending fray. Thorin edged out of the room and moved along the wall.

“D-Dori never s-s-said… anything.” There was obvious hurt in Ori’s eyes which were now filling with tears.

Nori’s bushy eyebrows were knitted together as he gave his brother a scrutinising once-over. “Ori… what’s wrong? Why are you…?”

Ori looked fearfully up at his brother, his face almost white, and Thorin noticed his hands were trembling. Nori clearly didn’t know about Ori’s stutter, or what had caused it.

“I… I…” Ori choked on his first sob, but Nori pulled his brother back into his arms.

“Oh God, I’m sorry, Kid… I didn’t know… But it’s alright, it’ll be alright…”

The nurses seemed content to let this exchange happen, but then the doors to the ward swung open: two black-clad security guards appeared and instantly started advancing on the brothers.

“N-N-No!” Ori wailed, his fingers bunching in Nori’s t-shirt.

Nori kept his arms around his little brother, teeth bared at the security guards. Thorin knew this wasn’t going to end well. Ori was clearly on the verge of an episode, and Nori wasn’t going to back down, and Bilbo was standing right next to them.

With very little consideration of the consequences, Thorin swiftly moved in front of them, blocking Nori from the security guards’ grasp. He drew himself up to full height and glared at the guards with the best homicidal look he could manage.

“Thorin!” the doctor hissed.

Thorin didn’t budge, and then Bilbo appeared at his shoulder, joining him in staring down the security guards.

“Lads, if you could move out of the way –” one began, but Bilbo cut across him.

“I’m sure you’re aware that Thorin here has quite an impressive number of kills,” he said pleasantly. “Equally, there is a chance that if you intervene, you’re going to trigger all three of us… Either way, it doesn’t look very good for you.”

Thorin saw Poppy smirk, then quickly cover her mouth. The two security guards exchanged a look, and there was a flicker of fear in their gaze.

“Being melodramatic again, are we, Bilbo?”

The nurses suddenly parted to reveal Dr. Grey, who came to Thorin’s side, his blue eyes twinkling. He then turned to address the security guards: “Thank you, gentlemen, but we shan’t be needing you… I can handle things from here.”

The men both glanced in Thorin’s direction with concern. “Are you sure, Dr. Grey?”

“Positive,” Dr. Grey replied warmly. “Sorry to have troubled you.”

It took another long moment, but then the two guards reluctantly turned away and headed back out of the ward. Thorin watched them leave, his heart pounding in his chest.

“Thorin, I assure you Nori is quite safe with me,” Dr. Grey said quietly.

Thorin realised he was blocking the brothers from the doctor’s view. He slowly shuffled away, Bilbo moving with him. Nori still had his arms wrapped protectively around Ori, who was snuggling into his chest, like a small child seeking comfort.

Nori eyed Dr. Grey warily. “You’re my brother’s shrink?”

“I’m Ori’s doctor, yes,” Dr. Grey replied calmly, extending a hand. “Dr. Gandalf Grey, nice to meet you at last.”

Nori seemed baffled by Dr. Grey’s manner and indecipherable expression, and it took him a while to shake the doctor’s hand.

“Now, I’d like to move this conversation to the dayroom,” Dr. Grey said. “I’m sure you and Ori have a lot to catch up on… If you’d follow me?”

“B-Bilbo and Th-Thorin… s-should c-c-come too,” Ori suddenly put in, straightening up, a little more colour in his cheeks.

Thorin’s stomach scrunched in on itself. “Er… Ori, I really don’t need to –”

“B-Bilbo and Thorin s-should c-come too,” Ori repeated, firmness in his voice despite his stutter.

Thorin looked helplessly at Bilbo, who gave him an understanding smile, but then mouthed ‘It’s okay’. He really wasn’t sure why Ori wanted him there at what was, no doubt, a very emotional and special reunion, but he decided questioning the younger man’s reasoning wasn’t a good idea… and so he let himself be steered down the corridor towards the dayroom.

There were only a few patients in the ward’s communal area: a couple watching the television and one reading in the window bay. They looked unnerved by the arrival of the party, led by Dr. Grey, but the nurses fanned out to speak to them individually and offer reassurance. The doctor gestured to a cluster of sofa chairs near the back of the room. Nori guided Ori into a chair and sat down next to him, with his brother still clinging to his hand, as if he was worried that should he let go, Nori would disappear. Bilbo and Thorin took a seat opposite them, and Thorin immediately started to fiddle with his sweatpants, if only to disguise his discomfort at the situation.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Dr. Grey announced, when they were all settled, surprising Thorin: he had assumed the doctor was going to mediate the conversation.

With no further comment, the doctor strode out of the dayroom. Poppy was standing at a safe distance by the wall, and there was another nurse and the junior doctor close by, but they were busying themselves with the other patients in the room.

A very long silence followed, in which Thorin tried to avoid making eye contact with anyone, but then Bilbo finally spoke: “So, Nori, you said you were released this morning?”

Thorin’s fingers clutched at his knees. He supposed there were very few safe topics when the only things they knew about Nori were that he was Ori’s older brother and he was an ex-convict, but Thorin, personally, would have talked about the weather first.

“Yeah, and I knew exactly the first place I needed to go,” Nori replied. He moved to put his arm around Ori.

Ori shifted closer to his brother, tilting his head to look up at him. “D-D-Dori k-knew y-you… were b-being… released,” he stated sullenly.

Nori squeezed his shoulder, and sighed. “He did, mate, but it doesn’t matter. I still made it to you anyway.”

Thorin was surprised that Nori’s voice now held little anger; he just appeared to be relieved. Of course Nori was rough around the edges, but since he had calmed down, he seemed quite harmless, and he clearly had nothing but affection for Ori.

“Dori and I had a bit of a fall out a few years ago,” Nori explained, looking to Bilbo and Thorin. “But whatever you’ve heard, there wasn’t anything dodgy about my discharge from the Forces… I decided to leave, realised it wasn’t really for me, but I did go through the proper channels.”

Thorin hadn’t realised he was in the presence of another veteran, but now he was wondering if this was somehow linked to Ori’s decision to join up.

“Then, you know, I’ll hold my hands up and say I got myself into some trouble… Stealing cars and the like, it wasn’t big or clever, but I’ve done my time for it.”

Bilbo lowered his head in acknowledgement, but then he said: “You’re the reason Ori joined last year.”

It wasn’t a question, and Thorin wasn’t quite sure what lay behind Bilbo’s neutral tone, although it seemed partly like a challenge, as if he was wondering if Nori would deny it.

“Yes,” Nori replied evenly. “All those stories I told him when he was a kid… Never thought he’d actually go for it though.”

“I-I am… r-r-right h-here,” Ori piped up, and Thorin couldn’t help but admire his grit. The younger man sat up straighter in the chair. “D-D-Dori was s-s-so angry… when I t-t-turned d-down th-those… u-university offers.”

“Yeah, I know: I got his letters,” Nori replied, with a roguish smile, but then the smile faded and his expression turned stony. “And I know he blames me for you ending up in here.”

“N-Nori… N-n-no,” Ori cried, his voice rising as he shifted to look at his brother. “I-It isn’t… y-y-your f-fault…”

Out of the corner of his eye, Thorin saw Poppy edge closer to them. She had obviously heard the note of distress in Ori’s voice, and Thorin himself could see the younger man was becoming upset.

“Ori,” Nori said gently, and he seemed ready to contradict him.

“N-No!” came Ori’s fierce response, and he balled his fists in a way painfully familiar to Thorin. “I-I’m… I’m… s-s-so… a-angry at… D-Dori...”

The tension was rising between the four of them, making the air charged and cloying. Nori had fallen silent and he looked to Bilbo and Thorin, his expression defeated and full of worry at his brother’s increasing agitation. It was Bilbo who reacted first: he leaned forward and put a reassuring hand on Ori’s knee.

“And you have every right to be angry, Ori,” he said softly. “No one’s going to tell you otherwise… But you know being angry doesn’t solve anything.”

Ori was about to respond when a very angry voice sounded out in the corridor and Thorin’s blood ran cold.

And then Dori stormed into the dayroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Duh duh duuuuuuuhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!
> 
> Hey guys, just a gentle reminder that the lovely AmbiguouslyGayBagginshield has produced some absolutely stunning fanart for this fic, which you can find here:  
> http://majesticbagginshield.tumblr.com/post/110280785799/fanart-for-a-remover-of-obstacles-my-favourite
> 
> Also, I’m having a bit of a miserable time at the moment, but I have to thank all of you for sticking with this fic and for kindly offering your feedback on chapters. I can’t stress this enough, but reading your comments is often what gets me through the day, so thank you again for taking the time to read ‘Obstacles’ and for letting me know your thoughts!


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It hits the fan.

“YOU!”

Dori crashed into the dayroom, his face a dangerous scarlet, and all essence of the kindly, white-haired baker Thorin had known in their brief exchanges had been ripped away, revealing nothing but raw, unambiguous hatred.

It had all the makings of a categorical mistake, but still Nori extricated his fingers from Ori’s grasp and rose from the sofa chair. He moved towards his brother, his hands raised in a placating gesture. “Dori, I –”

He was silenced as Dori’s hands suddenly shot out and grabbed the front of his t-shirt. He swung him around with terrifying, unexpected strength and slammed him into the nearest wall. Thorin heard the sharp crack as the back of Nori’s head smacked into the plaster, and his brother pinned him in place, his shaking fists pressing into his throat.

Several cries rose up, but it was Thorin who reacted first. He was used to breaking up the scraps that erupted in the barracks when new recruits were being broken in or a day had been particularly trying and the men were irritable. He’d lost count of the number of times he had waded into a fight and dragged one surly soldier away from another. It was with mechanical, practiced instinct, therefore, that he leapt up and went for Dori. There was no way of getting between the brothers, so he grabbed Dori’s hands and pulled his arms behind his back in a restraining, but harmless hold.

It was a move done with surprising difficulty – the older man was stronger than Thorin had ever imagined – but still he managed to wrestle Dori back, away from his brother. Nori let out a groan as Dori was wrenched away and his eyes were slightly glazed over as he slid down the wall, crumpling to the floor, one hand immediately reaching up to the back of his head.

Dori fought against Thorin’s grip with a disturbingly feral snarl, but Thorin held him in place and hissed a warning into his ear: “Dori, calm down!”

It was then that Thorin became aware of several people closing in around him and Radagast materialised at his side. “Okay, Thorin, shall we let security take things from here?” came the nurse’s gentle prompt.

Looking to his right, Thorin found the two security guards from earlier standing there patiently, waiting to take Dori from him. With a stiff nod, Thorin relaxed his hold and then his captive was escorted away, but only to another corner of the dayroom, where the guards sat him down, talking in firm, but appeasing tones.

The whole debacle was over in less than a minute, and now Thorin’s head was spinning as the adrenaline surged through his entire body. His heartbeat was nothing but static in his ears and he could feel the sweat beading at the back of his neck. Having been so focused upon his task, he had barely been aware of his surroundings, but the dayroom was slowly settling back into view around him.

The other patients had been swiftly collected and returned to the safety of their rooms, and the security staff had obviously decided to keep Dori in the room as a means of containing the situation, though he was being kept as far away from his brother as was physically possible. Nori was still sitting, sprawled on the floor before Thorin, but a junior doctor was now kneeling in front of him and flashing a pen torch into his eyes as he begrudgingly answered her questions.

It was the sound of choking that made Thorin turn, and he froze. Ori’s whole body was contorting in odd, jerky movements as he struggled to breathe and both Bilbo and Poppy were guiding him to lie down on the floor. Bilbo ripped down the zip on his grey hoodie and quickly folded it so that it could be placed beneath the teenager’s head. Ori’s face was flushed and screwed up with pain, and there were angry tears streaming down his reddened cheeks. Poppy and Bilbo worked together to move Ori into the recovery position and then Bilbo was whispering comforting words to the younger man as Poppy soothingly rubbed at his back.

Ori was clearly beyond frustrated at his inability to breathe and he suddenly reached up in an attempt to claw at his own face, but Poppy reacted instantly and grabbed Ori’s hand, carefully guiding it back down onto the floor, and Bilbo began stroking Ori’s hair, his words seeming more firm, but still as gentle.

This was the first time Thorin had witnessed someone else having a panic attack and it was a strange, almost out-of-body experience. He only became aware of his own trembling and light-headedness when Radagast approached him.

“Thorin, I think it would be best if –” the nurse began, but Thorin was having none of it.

“No.” His eyes were fixed on Bilbo as he spoke; clearly communicating that he was going nowhere whilst Bilbo was still involved.

“Alright, but you need to sit down,” Radagast said, with a look of obvious scrutiny, as he indicated the sofa chair behind them.

Thorin made a noncommittal noise as he shuffled over to the chair, slumping down into it. His gaze remained on Bilbo, who was now rubbing Ori’s back as Poppy took his pulse. Ori seemed to be calming down, though his shoulders were still shaking and the colour remained high in his cheeks. In the background buzz of the room, Thorin could distinguish Dori’s growls being exchanged with the security guards and Nori’s strained enquiries after his younger brother as he tried to swat the junior doctor away. The whole room was charged with a tense electricity, and it was making Thorin’s head hurt.

“Any feelings of sickness or nausea?”

Thorin’s eyes slowly moved back to Radagast, who was hovering next to him. “I’m… I’m just a bit light-headed,” Thorin admitted, unconcerned. “It’ll pass.” He tried to peer around the nurse to check on Bilbo. Ori was now attempting to rise from the floor, but Bilbo and Poppy were gently coaxing him to lie back down.

“Okay, and any pain?” Radagast moved to make sure he was getting Thorin’s full attention.

“No, I’m fine,” Thorin insisted, wanting to assert the fact that, for once, he was not the person in the room in need of medical attention.

“Hmm. If I could just check your pulse?”

Thorin offered the nurse his arm, knowing that he would clock his shaking fingers, but his black glare intimated that he better not mention it or else. Radagast placed two fingers to Thorin’s wrist and the other hand went to the fob watch hanging from his scrubs pocket. Peering around the nurse once again, Thorin found Bilbo looking over at him. Their eyes met and Thorin managed a smile, trying to mouth that he was alright, but still Bilbo started getting to his feet. He gave Ori a reassuring pat on his shoulder before his place was taken by another nurse.

“Okay?” Bilbo asked softly, coming to Thorin’s other side and perching on the arm of the sofa chair.

“I’m fine,” Thorin repeated, wanting so desperately to take Bilbo’s hand and squeeze his fingers. “How’s Ori doing?”

“He’s breathing easier now,” Bilbo said quietly, his smile somewhat sad. “I think –”

“I’m going to do you for assault! Then we’ll both have criminal records!”

Nori, having now recovered most of his senses, had decided it would be a good idea to start goading his brother across the dayroom. The junior doctor at his side spoke to him in a low tone of warning and one of the security guards began to discreetly edge around the room.

“Well, no jury would convict me!” Dori yelled back. He tried to rise from his seat, but the guard next to him clamped his hand down on his shoulder, forcing him to stay put.

Thorin felt his chest tighten. The brothers were clearly gearing up for ‘Round Two’ and there was no telling what was about to happen.

“I know exactly why you’re here, trying to poison Ori against me!” Dori continued, his voice high and dripping with venom.

“Yeah, only returning the favour, you spiteful old goat!” Nori shot back, lurching forward, but he was pushed back by the junior doctor’s hand on his chest.

“I’ve told Ori nothing but the truth!” Dori spat. “And now you think you can swan in here and take my place… But where were you when he was hooked up to a ventilator in the ICU? Where were you when he wouldn’t speak for two months? Where were –”

“Sh-Shut up! Sh-Shut up! SHUT UP!”

Thorin’s head whipped to the side in time to see Ori drag himself into a sitting position and the look on his face was absolutely murderous. His eyes were filled with both fire and water as he glared at one brother and then the other, and the whole dayroom fell silent.

“W-would you b-both… s-s-stop t-talking about m-me… as if I’m n-not here!” Ori said, and though his voice still contained the tremble and hesitance of his stutter, it was loud and clear, and full of the anger and frustration that had no doubt triggered his attack.

Dori tried to move forward, but was once again stopped by the security guard at his shoulder. “Ori, I didn’t –”

“Shut up, D-Dori!” Ori spat. “I… can s-speak f-for… m-myself! I s-still have… a voice!”

Thorin felt something like pride stirring in his chest and when he turned to Bilbo, he saw the feeling mirrored in his expression. Ori had his whole audience captivated, hanging on his every word, stuttered or not, and he was far from finished.

“I am s-so… sick… of th-the t-two of you… a-arguing!” Ori continued, sounding slightly breathless now, but still determined. “A-arguing about… s-stupid… p-petty th-things… that happened in th-the p-past… Y-you b-both need… to j-just get over y-yourselves!”

Thorin tried very hard not to snort at that. Dori and Nori were staring at their little brother, both completely dumbfounded, mouths identically agape.

“A-And y-you need… to s-stop b-bickering about… m-me signing up… I-I’m n-not a child! I m-make my… own decisions… And it was m-my d-decision to… join up… N-no one else’s!”

Ori’s eyes were shining with tears now and Poppy had reached for his hand. This seemed a welcome gesture, one that had occurred frequently before today, and Ori gripped her fingers fiercely as he rounded on Dori.

“A-and _you_ n-need… to s-stop b-blaming N-Nori… for w-what happened… to m-me,” he said firmly, the tears beginning to slide down his cheeks. “I-it w-wasn’t his f-fault… It was that f-fucking… IED’s… S-so s-stop using… m-my injuries to… g-get back at him! I-I’m not f-fuel for your f-fire… I’m your f-fucking b-brother… and th-this needs to stop. NOW!”

The last word leaving him in a blast, Ori collapsed back into Poppy, looking positively exhausted. The nurse rubbed at his shoulders, helping him to stay upright, murmuring words of praise and reassurance, matched by the bright look in her eyes. Thorin turned to Bilbo to find that they were both grinning and the urge to break into thunderous applause was very difficult to resist.

“Very well said, Ori.”

Everyone turned to find Dr. Grey standing in the doorway of the dayroom. Thorin had wondered at the doctor’s absence from the proceedings as he had no doubt been alerted to the unfolding drama, but he had noticed Dr. Grey’s preference for delayed and somewhat dramatic entrances.

“Now that we have all calmed ourselves, I think it’s about time we had a sobering discussion about where we go from here,” Dr. Grey said evenly, though the way he eyed Dori and Nori reminded Thorin of a head teacher reprimanding two students for a playground spat.

The doctor’s blue eyes suddenly moved to Thorin and Bilbo. “And thank you, gentlemen, for your invaluable insistence,” he said warmly. “But I think it would be best if this discussion were a family affair.”

“Our cue to leave,” Bilbo murmured, leaning in to Thorin’s ear.

Thorin nodded, staggering up out of the chair. He watched as Poppy slowly helped Ori to rise from the floor, and the younger man absent-mindedly scooped up Bilbo’s folded hoodie, his fingers running over the creased fabric as his eyes searched out his friend.

“Thank you, Ori,” Bilbo said kindly, taking the hoodie and quickly shrugging it on. Thorin also heard his whispered wishes of luck before he squeezed Ori’s shoulder and turned away.

“Back to Arendt, then?” Bilbo asked, once they were out in the corridor.

“Back to Arendt,” Thorin agreed, smiling.

They continued towards their room, and it happened almost without Thorin noticing: his fingers had been brushing against Bilbo’s and he simply decided to twine them together, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Bilbo didn’t comment, and his grin only widened, but Thorin stopped in his tracks, as if thinking and walking at the same time had suddenly become impossible.

“Sorry…” he stammered, his cheeks growing hot. “I didn’t mean to… I just…”

“I don’t mind,” Bilbo replied, humming as he squeezed Thorin’s fingers. “I quite like it, actually.” He gave their arms a little swing, as if to demonstrate this fact.

“Oh…” Thorin decided that gawping at Bilbo like a twat was obviously the best response.

“So, anyway…” Bilbo gently pulled Thorin along with him as he started moving down the corridor again. “Arendt is really more of a functionalist, but there are several elements of her work that…”

Thorin tried to pay attention, he really did, but at that moment the vast majority of his mind was occupied with the fact that Bilbo was currently holding his hand in a very public place and the fondness of the gesture was making his heart very giddy indeed.

 

…

 

With a resigned growl, Thorin dragged himself out of the chair and over to the chest of drawers at the other side of his room. It was too bloody hot. In a typically British fashion, he found himself very annoyed about the weather. Rosie had told him about the heatwave that morning when Thorin had woken, delirious and sweaty, and watched the nurse open his bedroom window as wide as it would go.

There was no breeze, so the air was warm and humid. Even in minimal layers, Thorin was sweating, and the t-shirt was now clinging to his chest and was also, very unattractively, soaking the fabric under his armpits. Muttering to himself, Thorin pulled the t-shirt off over his head and dumped it in the slightly overflowing laundry basket by his bed. He then began rummaging through the top drawer for a suitable replacement. Retrieving a pale blue t-shirt, Thorin turned, and stopped.

Bilbo was standing in his doorway, sporting a shit-eating grin. “Afternoon,” he said wryly.

Suddenly feeling very exposed, Thorin tightened his grip on the t-shirt in his hands, hearing his heartbeat knocking against his ribs. “It’s hot,” he stated, rather defensively.

Bilbo’s grin only widened. “And are you planning on going to the dayroom like this, or…?”

With impeccable timing, Rosie popped her head around the door. “Sorry, Thorin, no shirt, no service!” she said brightly, before disappearing again.

How on earth does she do that? Thorin thought, with a frown, before his gaze returned to Bilbo. “No…” he mumbled. “This is, er, this is a fresh shirt.” He held up the t-shirt, trying to prove his point that he would not be venturing to the dayroom topless.

With Bilbo still smiling at him and heat blossoming in his cheeks, Thorin stood awkwardly by the chest of drawers and attempted to pull on the aforementioned t-shirt… but he managed to put his hand through the head-hole. Twice. He heard Bilbo sniggering and looked up.

“Don’t… Don’t laugh at me!” Thorin whined, though he could feel a chuckle building behind his words. “It’s not funny!”

The t-shirt seemed to have swelled to tent-like proportions and with his hands feeling like over-sized spatulas, Thorin continued to struggle. Bilbo suddenly appeared before him and gently guided his hand through one of the sleeves.

“I can’t believe I’m actually helping you put your shirt back _on_ ,” Bilbo commented, with a sigh.

Thorin smiled as he slipped the t-shirt on over his head, but his face continued to burn with embarrassment. “Do we really have to go?” he said, the whine returning to his voice.

It sounded like he was complaining to Bilbo about visiting overbearing in-laws, but in fact the issue was that he was expected to attend one of the ward’s torturous ‘arts and crafts’ workshops, which, he strongly suspected, might actually turn out to be a group therapy session.

“It’s origami this week,” Bilbo said, attempting a cheerful tone. “It’s meant to be very relaxing… very Zen.”

Thorin couldn’t help it, he actually pouted.

“Come on,” Bilbo said, with a playful nudge. “Dr. Grey’s told us both off for being anti-social, so this is our punishment.”

“I am being sociable,” Thorin protested. “I’m talking to you.”

Bilbo gave Thorin a knowing look, meaning ‘end of discussion’. And so, with an obligatory huff, Thorin allowed himself to be steered towards the dayroom.

They were amongst the last patients to arrive, but luckily Bifur and Ori had saved them seats on the table where they usually played cards. Thorin was relieved that he wasn’t going to be forced to sit with patients he didn’t know, so he at least refrained from voicing his disdain for the proceedings as he joined his friends. There was a pile of square paper set in the middle of the table, along with an instruction sheet – all quite minimalist for one of the arts and crafts workshops.

Bilbo greeted Bifur in animated Sign Language, and whilst the two were engaged in conversation, Thorin’s eyes slipped to Ori. “How are you doing, Ori?” he asked quietly, smiling at the younger man.

It had only been two days since Nori had made a very dramatic return to his younger brother’s life, but Ori seemed to be coping with it all very well. It was agreed that Dori and Nori would visit on separate days, but that all three of them would begin working with a family relationship counsellor recommended by Dr. Grey. Thorin had thought Dori might hold some animosity towards him for foiling his attack on Nori, but on the contrary, Dori had apologised profusely and turned up the next day with an enormous coffee and walnut cake, baked especially for him.

“G-Good!” Ori replied, seeming genuinely happy. “N-Nori is v-visiting today… and h-he wants m-me… t-to d-d-design his n-next t-tattoo!”

Thorin had caught sight of Ori sketching in the dayroom, though he was always very guarded when it came to showing anyone his drawings. “That’s great. What is he –”

Radagast was calling for quiet and a hush fell over the dayroom. They all listened as he explained that a member of staff would come to each table and demonstrate the correct way to make an origami crane and then it would be their turn to try their hand at making them. Thorin tried desperately not to roll his eyes at Radagast’s enthusiasm. He only hoped that it wouldn’t be the brown-scrubbed nurse coming to their table to show them how to… and Radagast arrived at their table. Thorin openly groaned and Bilbo gave him another playful nudge.

Thorin had always thought that origami was as simple as folding paper in half and didn’t understand why some people seemed to consider it some kind of high art form. He was, therefore, understandably shitting himself as he watched Radagast produce an impeccable crane with some very quick and complicated manoeuvres. It was like magic. Thorin had no idea how it was done, but suddenly a square of paper was pushed in front of him.

“Now you give it a go, Thorin,” Radagast said, smiling. “You can use the instruction sheet if you get stuck.”

“I… I might just watch,” Thorin replied, swallowing. Bifur, Ori, and Bilbo were already beginning work on their cranes, folding their paper with precision.

“Nonsense,” Radagast said, tapping the paper in front of him. “Would you like me to make the first fold for you?”

“I can manage,” Thorin growled, hunching over his paper so Radagast wouldn’t touch it.

Seeming convinced, Radagast moved away from their table.

“You sure you’re okay?” Bilbo asked softly, flipping over his paper and making more folds.

“Yeah… Yeah, I can do it.”

Ten minutes later, Bilbo, Bifur, and Ori were admiring their first attempts, which did indeed all resemble Radagast’s example. Thorin’s crane, however, looked like a kite that had gotten caught in telephone wires and crashed to the ground, hitting a tree and a car on the way down.

“You can kind of tell what it’s supposed to be,” Bilbo commented, and Thorin could feel him trying to contain his laughter.

With a furious snarl, Thorin crushed his kite-crane in his fist and threw it behind him. He was about to rise from the table when Radagast appeared and set down a pristine sheet of paper.

“Give it another go, Thorin, you’ll get the hang of it.”

Before Thorin could respond, the other men at the table had all grabbed another sheet of paper. “We’ll have another go too,” Bilbo said, his tone gentle and appeasing. “I didn’t get the wings right on mine.”

Thorin stared at Bilbo’s perfect crane and mumbled something under his breath. But he was still swayed by this show of solidarity and he begrudgingly reached for the instruction sheet.

Five minutes later, and feeling like he had just performed open-heart surgery, Thorin finally found something fairly bird-like sitting on the table in front of him. However, the wings were completely uneven – one looked like a paddle and the other was ridiculously stumpy. And it was squat and fat, not sleek like the other cranes surrounding it. Its beak was also ungainly, too large compared to the rest of its body.

Bilbo saw Thorin scrutinising his work and smiled. “See, you managed it in the end!”

Thorin continued to frown at his crane with obvious distaste. “It’s ugly.”

“It’s just a little rough around the edges,” Bilbo insisted. “I think it’s adorable.”

Thorin grumbled under his breath again. He was getting quite fed up of this now. And that was when Radagast chose to pop up behind him again.

“Oh, excellent, well done, Thorin!”

It was the tone of someone praising their three-year-old’s clumsy crayon drawing of their family, and Thorin wanted to punch something.

“These all look brilliant, lads. You know, you’ve created something very special here today – cranes traditionally symbolise peace and hope, and…”

Thorin drowned out Radagast’s attempts at being profound, staring at his gimpy crane with a sinking feeling in his stomach. Eventually, the nurse moved away to another table and Thorin turned to Bilbo.

“If cranes symbolise hope then this one is hopeless,” he muttered.

“It is not hopeless,” Bilbo replied, sighing. He picked up Thorin’s crane and, balancing it on his palm, seemed to give it a good inspection, smiling warmly as he did so.

“Keep it,” Thorin said suddenly, and Bilbo looked up. “I mean… I want you to have it, seen as you seem to like it so much.”

Bilbo’s smile only brightened. “Thank you. This is definitely going on my windowsill.”

“Just wish I had something nicer to give you,” Thorin said sullenly.

“It’s lovely, Thorin,” Bilbo said quietly. “I’ll treasure it.”

Thorin managed a smile, and he was sure he would’ve continued to stare at Bilbo if Bifur hadn’t coughed and made a few sly signs. Thorin raised an eyebrow, but, rather flustered, Bilbo said: “Yeah… I’m not translating that.”

 

…

 

The following morning found Thorin and Bilbo reading, side by side, behind Bilbo’s door. As much as Thorin had wanted to make their shared reading experience a slightly more physical one, he had been forced to agree that, due to the sweltering heat, this positioning was preferable. Leaning against the wall, book in hand, he was Bilbo’s mirror-image, and his eyes kept wandering away from Arendt to sneak coy glances at the man next to him. A few times, he thought he caught Bilbo’s lips twitch into the smallest smile… Did he know Thorin was watching him? Or was his reading material just more upbeat than usual? Thorin turned another page of _Eichmann in Jerusalem_ , trying to concentrate on the task at hand.

“Ah, there you are!”

Thorin and Bilbo looked up in unison as Radagast stepped into the room.

“Dr. Grey is ready for you now, Thorin.”

Turning to Bilbo with a grimace, Thorin silently pleaded with him for help.

“I’ll still be here when you get back,” came Bilbo’s rueful reply.

Realising there was no escape, and that deciding not to go to Dr. Grey’s office off his own accord had not been a fool-proof plan, Thorin reluctantly got to his feet, leaving his book to mark his place next to Bilbo. After another exchange of sympathetic smiles, Thorin let himself be shepherded out of the room.

Radagast was unusually sedate on their journey to Dr. Grey’s office. He didn’t try to engage Thorin in mundane conversation and it was as if he were dragging some sort of weight with him. Thorin couldn’t decide whether this was because he knew the subject Dr. Grey had in mind for the session or because of his own, personal worries.

Arriving at the office door, Radagast gave Thorin a soft but troubling smile, and then he returned back down the corridor towards the nurses’ station. Thorin entered the office, carefully shutting the door behind him, and found Dr. Grey waiting in his usual chair.

“Ah, Thorin, come in, make yourself comfortable.” He gestured to the leather armchair opposite him.

Thorin took a seat, eyeing the doctor warily. There was something similar to Radagast’s demeanour present in Dr. Grey’s expression, though he seemed to be taking great pains to present his usual poker face.  

“Now,” Dr. Grey began, opening the folder in his lap. “In this session, I thought we would review the progress you have made since you joined us.”

Thorin raised an eyebrow: as fond as the doctor was of the word ‘progress’, it had never been ‘reviewed’ before. “Why?” Thorin asked, a slight edge to his voice. His chest was starting to feel tight and his fingers curled into the chair’s arms.

“Why?” Dr. Grey echoed. “You mean why are we reviewing your progress?”

“Yes,” Thorin replied, his jaw set.

The doctor studied Thorin over the top of his glasses and he was sure he could see the cogs of thought whirring in those indecipherable blue eyes. Thorin held each breath inside him for longer than was necessary and his stomach squirmed, waiting for the drop.

“We are reviewing your progress, my dear Thorin,” Dr. Grey said quietly. “Because we believe you are ready to be discharged.”

And Thorin fell.

The drop was agony. His eyes widened and the panic exploded out from his chest in icy shards, sending the room whirling around him. _No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no..._

Dr. Grey considered Thorin for a moment. “You don’t agree?” he asked, raising his pen to the folder in front of him.

“No,” Thorin choked out, continuing to stare at the doctor in disbelief. This revelation had come out of nowhere… _Discharged? Now?_

Dr. Grey’s pen was moving across the page. “May I ask why?”

Thorin scoffed, as if his look of horror wasn’t enough. Unable to muster any sort of intelligible response, he merely held out his hand to the doctor so that he could see how much his fingers were shaking.

Smiling, Dr. Grey stilled his pen. “Yes, understood,” he said carefully. “However, Thorin, I would like you to reflect on just how far you have come since you arrived here.”

Thorin’s mind was suddenly filled with furious images of his former self: aggressive, and hollow, and alone… Yes, he supposed he could admit to himself that things had changed since those darker, early days, but surely the doctor didn’t think he was ready to… to return to the real world?

“It’s been weeks since your last panic attack, months since your last hallucinatory episode,” Dr. Grey explained. “And you’re responding very well to your medication.”

Hunching back in his chair, Thorin swallowed, trying to appease the feelings of sickness stirring in his stomach as his heart hammered on. Everything the doctor was saying was true, but he still couldn’t accept it…

“You have rebuilt your relationship with your sister, and more than demonstrated your ability to trust and engage with new people… You have also forged a very beneficial and mutually supportive relationship with your niece, Fili.”

Daring to look back at the doctor, Thorin still saw nothing but the truth. His mind was rapidly turning over the doctor’s words, and finally it came to Thorin that he had been so obsessed by his illness that he hadn’t even realised he was actually getting better.

“Please trust that I am not trying to tell you that you are ‘cured’, Thorin,” Dr. Grey continued. “I agree that we still have some work to do together, and under no circumstances will I discharge you against your will… But I feel that you are ready to return to your family and begin your reintegration back into society. I have spoken to Dis, and she already has her spare room prepared for you. You will be registered with us as an outpatient and I would still like to see you twice a week for sessions, but…”

Thorin was suddenly doused with freezing water. The doctor’s words were drowned out as, with silent screaming inside his head, he was pulled under.

Bilbo.

 _Bilbo_. In all the chaos of his mind, Thorin had failed to register that his one constant, his one certainty, was one no longer. His centre of gravity was about to be ripped away from him. Or, more to the point, he was about to be ripped away from his centre of gravity. The wound had already been made, and Thorin gasped out, feeling as if he had begun to bleed internally, and his pounding heart only increased the sickly trickle within his chest. He looked at the doctor, certain he was about to throw up. He was leaving Bilbo, he was leaving Bilbo in here, unless…

Staring at Dr. Grey with shining eyes, Thorin murmured: “Is… Is Bilbo being discharged too?” It was a childish hope, borne from the fact that he and Bilbo always did everything together, and maybe, just maybe, this was another adventure with a joint undertaking…

“I’m afraid not,” Dr. Grey replied, his expression unreadable. “Alas, Bilbo still needs some more time with us.”

Thorin hung his head, screwing up his eyes: it was the answer he had been expecting. Drawing in a shuddering breath, he blinked up again at the doctor, and when he next spoke, his voice was so pitifully small: “But… what am I supposed to tell him?”

He stared, desperately, at Dr. Grey. But, for the first time, no answer came.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *runs away and hides*


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You're so nice and you're so smart,  
> You're such a good friend,  
> I have to break your heart.  
> I'll tell you that I love you,  
> then I'll tear your world apart.  
> Just pretend I didn't tear your world apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *distributes warm, fluffy blankets and Easter eggs*

There are moments from which there is no returning. They slice your life, sharply and cleanly, into two distinct halves of ‘before’ and ‘after’. You then start to see the time, marked as ‘before’, as untouchable and encased in light, as if all was well in the world before the cut, the break, the plunge into the terrible time of ‘after’. Thorin had experienced several such moments in his life: the day he was called before his commanding officer only to be informed that his younger brother, Frerin, had been shot dead by a sniper whilst on patrol. The phone call from his mother to tell him that his father had been diagnosed with early-onset Alzheimer’s, and the second, quieter call to say that his father had died; the disease had rotted him from the inside out.

And then, only a year later, the answer phone message he had stumbled home to one night, the blood red number on the machine flickering in the blackness like a warning that another moment was fast approaching. His mother died that night, and he found himself orphaned in a foreign city, facing down the sequence of messages that had dissected his life, as he was once again sent spiralling into the abyss of ‘after’. He could see himself banging, hands flattened, on the separating glass, wishing himself over to the other side. And still he felt he hadn’t quite learned that there could be no going back.

As he walked out of Dr. Grey’s office, Thorin saw himself sitting beside Bilbo, book in hand, as they read behind the door. Already the image felt removed from him: distant and filled with the summer sunlight that was absent from the corridor that led back to the ward. Had that really only been an hour ago? And now it was separated from Thorin forever, disappeared into the ether of ‘before’; left to be admired from the other side of the glass like a scene in a snow globe.

Thorin waited in the corridor until the doctor joined him, and then they made their slow journey back to the ward. It was agreed that he would be the one to tell Bilbo, and that it should be done straight away: Thorin didn’t think he could bear anything else, although this chosen course of action was going to be far from pain-free.

Arriving at the nurses’ station, he noted the angle of Bilbo’s door, and realised that Bilbo must still be reading behind it, exactly where he had left him. Thorin knew he needed a few moments to compose himself; with a nod to Dr. Grey, he returned to his room and collapsed into a chair by the window. From this position, he could see the nurses gathering by the station, their nervous gazes flitting between rooms. Thorin didn’t particularly want an audience, but Dr. Grey had warned him an increase in staff would be necessary, to support both him and Bilbo through this awful reveal.

With an ache uncurling in his chest, Thorin rubbed at the short, greying hair at his temples and tried, once again, to process the overwhelming amount of information that had just been thrust upon him. _Spoken to Dis… already has her spare room prepared for you… Outpatient… twice a week… marvellous support group… responsible for your own medication… phenomenal progress… progress… progress… pro –_

“Thorin?”

Thorin’s eyes snapped up to find Bilbo coming towards him, and his stomach gave an ominous heave. He wasn’t even allowed a few, private minutes; the universe had decided it wanted chaos now, not later.  He didn’t say anything as Bilbo approached, but the younger man’s expression was troubled, eyebrows knitted with concern.

“God, Thorin, you’re white as a sheet,” Bilbo breathed, putting a hand on his shoulder.

Thorin went rigid under the touch. “Don’t.”

He hadn’t intended to sound so harsh and pain had coloured his words, but still Bilbo quickly withdrew his hand and took a cautious step back.

“Would you like me to go?” he asked gently.

Daring to meet Bilbo’s eye, Thorin struggled to keep his voice steady: “Bilbo… I… I need to talk to you.”

Bilbo’s eyebrow twitched. “Okay,” came the soft reply, as he slipped down into the chair opposite Thorin. He was studying him with a familiar, calculating half-frown that caused little creases of concentration to appear on his brow.

Thorin desperately wished Bilbo would say something else, if only to prolong the moment before he changed everything, but there would be no such reprieve. Heartbeat thundering in his ears, Thorin delivered the blow: “I’m being discharged.”

Bilbo didn’t react.

He stayed perfectly still, considering Thorin, though the frown vanished, replaced with an unsettling mask of indifference.

“When?” he asked quietly, his lips a thin line.

Thorin could feel the corners of his eyes begin to prickle as his heart continued its manic knocking against his ribs. “Next week,” he answered, and then, fuelled by panic, he just kept talking: “I-I’m going to stay with Dis for a while… But I’ll still be seeing Dr. Grey twice a week… And I… I’ll come and see you every day… It’ll have to be during visiting hours, but I –”

Bilbo stood up. Thorin flinched as the nervous ramblings died in his throat. He stared up at him, eyes burning, and then, without a word, Bilbo turned on his heel and made to walk straight from the room.

Thorin suddenly staggered to his feet. “Bilbo, wait!”

Bilbo paused and turned his head, only a fraction, towards Thorin. “Don’t follow me.”

It was an unmistakable command, delivered with an edge Thorin had never heard before, and he froze. He could do nothing but watch with wide eyes as Bilbo left, disappearing round the corner, back into his own room. Thorin saw the nurses feigning busyness, but Dr. Grey’s eyes followed Bilbo in his return. Thorin looked away before his gaze could find him, standing alone by the foot of his bed. There was a dreamy numbness seeping into him now, adding to the feelings of detachment, as if the past hour had never happened, and there was also a sense of anti-climax. Bilbo had gone in search of space and solitude in order to process Thorin’s revelation, and so maybe he should simply do the same.

Thorin was hoisting himself up onto his bed when a deafening crash sounded from Bilbo’s room.

“FUCK!”

This terrifying cry shaking him to the very core, and with a horrible ringing in his ears, Thorin lurched out of his room, rounding the corner as all the nurses surged past him.

“Bilbo!” Thorin felt his lips form the younger man’s name, though he never heard the sound.

Hands were suddenly at his shoulders and his chest, trying to wrestle him back, and he heard his own name spinning around him, but he fought against them, moving into Bilbo’s room. In the centre, lay the split, wooden carcass of a bookcase, books spilling out beneath it like papery entrails. Bilbo was standing, hunched over behind it, his chest heaving with manic breaths as he stared down at his curling fingers that were lightly dappled with blood.

The realisation struck Thorin square in the chest: Bilbo had thrown his bookcase half-way across the room. He had actually managed to heave the bulky case, laden with five shelves of books, about six feet across the floor.

Letting out a wounded groan, Bilbo slumped down onto his knees. Instinctively, Thorin lunged forward, only to be dragged back by Poppy and Radagast, who were keeping a purposeful but painless hold on each of his arms.

“Wait, Thorin,” Radagast whispered urgently.

Everyone was giving Bilbo a wide berth as he crumpled to the floor in front of them, the ruined bookcase blocking a direct path to him, and Thorin was suddenly aware of the fact that he really had no idea what Bilbo was capable of… The man who made wry, witty observations of Shakespeare and folded perfect paper cranes had also just destroyed a heavy, wooden bookcase.

Yet, Bilbo was still kneeling on the floor, shining eyes fixed on his shaking, bloodied fingers, and Thorin could hardly bear it. He could feel Bilbo’s pain radiating out from him in waves, mingling and knotting itself with his own, tied as they were, by the same wound. All he wanted to do was reach out to him, gather him into his arms, and kiss his fingers, and promise him this would all be alright in the end… But instead he found himself restrained and useless.

He looked to Beorn and Rosie, who were poised at one side of the room, and their expressions held recognisable distress, which they were clearly doing their best to bury beneath their collected, professional exteriors.

An age seemed to have passed since the felling of the bookcase, but finally a calm, controlled voice sounded from the doorway: “Bilbo.” Dr. Grey moved slowly to Poppy’s side, his blue eyes curiously round and sympathetic.

Thorin expected Bilbo to let out a whimper, to crumble further into himself, but his reaction was far more terrifying. Lifting his head, Bilbo turned dark grey eyes on the doctor, and his expression was murderous. It distorted his whole face so that he was barely recognisable as the Bilbo Thorin knew. Disturbed, he shrank back into Poppy and Radagast’s grasp.

“You bastard,” Bilbo growled, his voice cold and unfamiliar, and then suddenly he was half-screaming: “YOU KNEW! YOU FUCKING KNEW!”

With another snarl, he started slamming his bleeding hands down onto the floor.

“Bilbo!”

Thorin was held back again, and he could do nothing but watch in horror as Bilbo repeatedly smacked his palms into the linoleum, making them red and raw. But Beorn reacted swiftly. The hulking nurse moved with surprisingly agility around the bookcase, and Thorin felt a tiny sliver of relief squeeze past the ache in his chest… and then Bilbo’s elbow connected with Beorn’s ribcage.

It seemed Bilbo had been completely aware of the nurse’s approach and had purposefully waited until he was close enough to make a much practiced move to repel his restraining hold. Beorn let out a startled huff of air and staggered back, clutching his side, and Bilbo immediately started slamming his bleeding hands down again.

“Bilbo, stop!” Thorin cried, burning tears beginning to cloud his vision.

On hearing his voice, Bilbo stilled, as if jolted from a dream, and it distracted him just long enough for Beorn to recover himself and pull Bilbo’s hands behind his back. Bilbo cried out, struggling fiercely in Beorn’s grip, but the nurse only adjusted his position. Bilbo did let out a whimper then, tears streaking his reddened cheeks, and the sound ripped through Thorin with a blinding heat.

“Don’t hurt him!” he gasped, feeling his legs buckling beneath him. “Please, don’t hurt him!”

Beorn was lowering Bilbo onto the floor now, one large hand wrapped around his sweaty forehead, and he was murmuring to him: “Shhhh… Little Bunny… Shhhh…”

Dr. Grey and Rosie moved forward, going to join Beorn, almost obscuring Bilbo from view, and Thorin was struggling to hold himself upright, feeling thoroughly drained as he sank in Poppy and Radagast’s grasp.

“Easy now, let’s get you out of here,” Radagast said softly.

Thorin made some weak, mumbled forms of protest, but still let the nurses guide him from the room.

“Don’t… Don’t let them hurt him…” Thorin whispered again, feeling almost drunk with emotional exhaustion, and his mind was consumed by images of Bilbo out-manoeuvring Beorn and looking so small in comparison to the nurse as he was restrained.

“They won’t, we promise,” Poppy replied gently.

It was then that Thorin registered that he was being half-carried across the ward, away from his room.

“Where are we going?” he murmured, as they approached an unfamiliar door.

“We’re going to set up camp in the relatives’ room,” Radagast explained. “Just to give you some privacy; it’s nice and quiet in here.”

Poppy pushed open the door and Thorin found himself being carefully lowered into one of the room’s soft, low chairs. The silence was eerie and cloying, but he knew he wouldn’t be allowed back into his room until the issues with Bilbo were resolved: on the ward everything was too close and could be heard through the thin wall separating him and Bilbo. Now the distance between them was much greater, and it was supposed to make him safe.

Radagast sank down into a seat next to Thorin. The chairs were armless and arranged in one long line against the back wall so they resembled an oversized sofa, and it also meant there was no barrier to stop the nurse entering Thorin’s personal space. His fingers found Thorin’s wrist and he didn’t object; he was only aware of how fast his pulse must be thrumming beneath Radagast’s fingertips.

“We can get you something for –”

“No,” Thorin said bluntly, cutting the nurse off. “No medication.”

“Alright,” Radagast sighed, withdrawing his hand as he stood up. “I’ll just go and see how we’re doing.”

After nodding to Poppy, he slipped out of the room. Thorin stared after him, wondering – with an odd detachment – if he had refused the medication because he truly felt it was unnecessary or because he was punishing himself, unwilling to let anything dull the pain that was ravaging the insides of his chest.

“You need to drink some water, Thorin.”

Thorin looked up dumbly as Poppy approached him with a clear, plastic cup. He grunted and held his hand out for it, though he was glad when the nurse gently pressed his fingers around the cup, making sure he was holding it steady. She then retreated back towards the door, giving him the space he obviously needed.

Peering into the cup, and seeing the distorted, shadowy reflection of his own haggard face, Thorin was reminded of Bilbo’s brutal expression as he shrieked at Dr. Grey. All trace of kindness and intelligence had been completely lost, replaced by a mad glint in his darkened eyes: and that’s what Thorin had thought. It made him feel physically sick, but, in that moment, he had thought Bilbo looked insane. He couldn’t bear the horridness of his own mind… How could he have thought something so cruel of Bilbo? But Bilbo’s expression was haunting him, and he could still hear the sharp, frantic _thwack_ of his hands slamming down onto the floor.

“Thorin, you really do need to dri –”

“FUCK THE WATER!”

With a strangled growl, Thorin lobbed the cup at the wall. It made a satisfying smack against the plaster and then clattered to the floor, spilling water everywhere. Poppy had jumped back and now there was still fear in her eyes as she struggled to compose herself… and Thorin knew he had genuinely frightened her. The guilt immediately flowered in his gut as he stared at the nurse, his chest heaving in an uneven rhythm. Throwing the cup might have brought some instant gratification, but now he just felt awful, and he had made someone else feel awful too.

“Poppy… I… I’m sorry,” he stammered, throat feeling tight. “Let me… I can…”

Thorin blundered forward, moving to retrieve the offending cup, but Poppy stopped him with a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Thorin, it’s okay, I can clean this up,” she said, guiding him back down into the chair.

Looking up at her, his eyes burning again, Thorin felt the cry jamming in his throat; the only sound that emerged was half-formed and pathetic. “I… I am sorry…”

Poppy squeezed his shoulder, giving him a small smile. “I know.”

“Everything alright in here?”

Radagast reappeared and stopped when he noticed the pool of water in the corner of the room. “Ah.”

“Could you possibly find a mop, Radagast?” Poppy asked evenly, her hand leaving Thorin’s shoulder.

“Of course,” Radagast replied cheerily, before turning and winking at Thorin. “Oh come now, Thorin, there’s no use crying over spilled water, is there?”

The nurse left the room with a chuckle and Thorin wished he was still in possession of the cup so he could aim it at his head.

Poppy seemed to understand, and so when Radagast returned with a mop and bucket, and an unnecessary amount of ‘Wet Floor’ signs, she urged him to go and do various jobs to keep him away from the relatives’ room. This left Thorin free to sit and stare at the floor, and let the images of Bilbo, hunched behind the bookcase, torment him.

He wasn’t sure how long he had been sitting, huddled in his chair, when the door to the relatives’ room swung open and Dis was shown in. At the sight of his sister, Thorin’s face crumpled, and he couldn’t help the tears that sprang to his eyes. They were left alone in the room and Dis slowly approached him and took a seat at his side, careful to leave some distance between them.

“Hello, love,” she said quietly. “They called me in.”

Thorin had no strength left to present any sort of stoic front, and so he simply let himself cry. With an ugly sob, he moved towards Dis, and she reacted with maternal instinct, pulling him towards her, wrapping her arms around him.

“I am so sorry this has happened,” Dis whispered, one hand going to the back of Thorin’s head, her chin resting on his hair.

“I’ve made a mess of everything,” Thorin said, his voice breaking. “Such a mess.”

“Shhh…” Dis soothed, her other hand rubbing his arm. “None of this is your fault, Thorin. You can’t blame yourself for getting better.”

Thorin screwed up his eyes, choking back another cry: he had no answer for that, because he knew it was exactly what he had been doing, ever since Dr. Grey delivered the news. He let Dis hold him for another long minute, taking some comfort from the physical closeness, and realising with a blunted sense of irony that this gesture really did show how far he had come since being admitted to the hospital.

Slowly drawing away, Thorin took in his sister’s faded jeans and cardigan. “You weren’t at work today?” he asked, hastily wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.

“No, sweetheart, it’s the summer holidays now, remember?” Dis replied, producing a folded tissue from her cardigan pocket and handing it to her brother.

“Oh,” Thorin muttered, cursing himself: he did remember. Dr. Grey had explained that with Dis off work for six weeks and Fili and Kili at home it was the ideal time for him to be discharged as there would always be someone in the house.

“I know this has come as quite a shock,” Dis continued, rubbing a thumb consolingly over Thorin’s knuckles. “And that this next week is going to be difficult for you… so if you need a few extra days to sort things out, that’s absolutely fine with us and everybody here.”

Thorin knew that by ‘things’ Dis meant Bilbo, and it suddenly occurred to him that his sister was outside of the omniscient circle of nursing staff at the hospital… They had never spoken about his relationship with Bilbo after his first month there.

“You know about Bilbo?” Thorin murmured. This question had several meanings, but he knew, from the saddened look in Dis’ blue eyes, that she had deduced the correct one.

“I do, love, yes,” Dis replied carefully.

Thorin studied his sister, one eyebrow slightly raised. “But… You never said anything… Never asked any questions…” He couldn’t believe that Dis had been in possession of such information and not interrogated him to within an inch of his life.

“Well, you have your niece to thank for that,” Dis said, an amused quirk in her lips. “I was subjected to a round of fairly impressive threats before every visit, and it was made known that if I pestered you she would make my life a misery. She’s perfected your homicidal glare as well.”

This was definitely enough to make Thorin smile: he would have to thank Fili the next time he saw her.

“We’re really looking forward to having you home,” Dis said, tactfully changing the subject. “Fili has put herself in charge of sorting out your room and organising everything for when you arrive… She’d like to visit you tomorrow, but only if you feel up for it, of course.”

Thorin managed another smile, though his stomach was sinking as he wondered just how long everyone had known about his being discharged. He then pictured his niece and nephew’s excitement at being told the news that he was coming home and the vigour with which they must have thrown themselves into preparations for his return… Getting discharged from hospital was supposed to be a joyful occasion, and yet he had found himself blubbing into his sister’s cardigan in an empty relatives’ room.

“I’m sorry I’ve put such a dampener on things.”

“Oh Thorin, don’t be silly,” Dis said, the firmness in her tone making her sound just like their mother. “You have not put a dampener on things. It’s a big change, and it might not be easy… but please know that everyone is here to support you.”

Thorin knew what Dis was trying to say, but he still bristled at the hint of ‘therapist’ in her tone. Dis must have recognised this, because a wry smile appeared.

“I know I’m your little sister, and I’m not supposed to say this, and you can give me a massive shove if you want,” she said, her voice now full of warmth. “But you’ve come so far… and I really am very proud of you, Thorin.”

Dis’ eyes were shining and Thorin squeezed her hand, feeling his eyes threaten their own tears again. “Just a small shove,” he murmured, giving Dis’ shoulder a nudge. “But… thank you.”

It was a moment, shared between the two of them, separate from the chaos crashing around outside the room, and Thorin took a few long seconds to cling onto it, before letting it go.

 

…

 

Dis stayed for another hour. After agreeing that the hospital’s tea was, admittedly, sub-par (or, to use Rosie’s phrasing, ‘spectacularly crap’), the nurses brought them two steaming mugs of tea made with their own hidden stash of Yorkshire teabags, along with a selection of sandwiches. Dis managed to coax Thorin into eating half a sandwich, and then the all clear was given and he was allowed to return to his room. Bilbo’s door was almost shut as Thorin was guided past, and so he stared straight ahead, ignoring the way his heart was beating bruises into his chest.

Once Dis had departed, Thorin declared that he wanted to take a nap, the ulterior motive being that he thought everyone would leave him alone if they thought he was sleeping. And so, as the day dragged on into the infinite expanse of ‘after’, Thorin curled himself up on his side, lying on the bed with his blue woollen blanket wrapped around him. It was still far too hot for the throw, and he could feel the sweat pooling between his shoulder blades, but something about the soft feel of the fabric was comforting. Thorin tangled his feet in it and began methodically twisting and untwisting the fringe around his fingers.

Every so often, Thorin found himself blinded by the bronze statue of Ganesh on his windowsill: when the light hit it at a certain angle, it flashed a golden white. He narrowed his eyes at the god, lips turned down with bitterness. Maybe he had granted what Fili had promised: he had helped Thorin remove the obstacles that paved his way home. But in an act of divine trickery, he had gifted him a companion for the road and then refused to remove his obstacles in equal fashion. And now the way was forked, leaving Thorin gazing one way, and Bilbo another. Thorin wrapped the fringe around his fingers with renewed vigour, glaring over at the statue, wishing he had destroyed it the night he had been woken by Bilbo’s screams.

There was a soft knock at his door.

Brow furrowed, Thorin slowly lifted his head, following the sound, and then he was jerking himself into a sitting position. Bilbo was lingering uncertainly in the doorway, as if unsure of the welcome he would receive.

“Can I come in?”  he asked quietly.

He looked gaunt and pale, but he was Bilbo again. The light had returned to his green-grey eyes and he smiled softly as Thorin fought to untangle himself from his blanket cocoon.

“Of-Of course!” Thorin replied, hastily ripping the blanket from his ankles and dumping it in an unattractive, sweaty heap next to him.

Bilbo pulled himself up onto the end of the bed, and Thorin’s eyes lingered on his hands that were tightly wrapped in fresh, white bandages. Mirroring Thorin’s cross-legged position, Bilbo slipped his hands into his hoodie pockets, but his embarrassed expression indicated that he had clocked the direction of Thorin’s gaze.

For a long time, neither of them spoke, and it was clear that Bilbo was trying to keep his distance. He sat at the very end of the bed, leaning against the footboard, and Thorin was struggling to stop himself simply crossing the gulf separating them, wrapping his arms around Bilbo and pulling him into his chest.

“I am so sorry about this morning,” Bilbo said suddenly, breaking the silence. “You really shouldn’t have had to witness that.”

Thorin’s heart gave a painful jolt. “You don’t need to apologise,” he replied, trying to keep his voice steady.

“No, I behaved appallingly,” Bilbo continued. “I was being melodramatic as usual, and it was all very unfair on you.”

Thorin understood what was happening, and his heart ached more with every word. Bilbo’s guard was back up and he wasn’t going to acknowledge the stark reality of the situation. “Bilbo –”

“I’m afraid I ruined your wonderful news. Fili and Kili must be so excited about having you home!”

Staring at Bilbo, knowing his words were genuine even if his strained smile wasn’t, Thorin had to make a decision: either confront Bilbo about where this news left them, or go along with his cheery small talk. In the end, Thorin decided to be a coward and choose the latter.

“Yes… Dis says Fili’s been sorting out my room and, er, my ‘schedule’, though I’m not really sure what that means… And Kili wants to take me to the park by their house to play football.”

“It’ll be nice to have a PA,” Bilbo grinned. “Did you play football after you finished school?”

Bilbo seemed more relaxed now, and it scared Thorin how easily they had slipped into idle chatter… though he supposed this was a good thing.

“Yeah, the lads in my unit liked to have a kick about every now and again… But we always ended up getting really competitive… Sometimes I did pull rank – when there were dodgy off-sides or fouls.”

Bilbo’s grin widened, but then his gaze fell to his lap and his expression turned pensive. Thorin waited in nervous silence, wondering if he should tell Bilbo about the time he was head-butted by his lieutenant because he disallowed his goal.

“You didn’t realise you were getting better, did you?”

Bilbo was studying him again, the grin faded to a sadder smile. Thorin had already been confronted by this question in Dr. Grey’s office: no, he hadn’t realised. The possibility of being discharged had been nothing but a glimmer on the horizon, and so Thorin had simply resigned himself to the long-haul and kept all thoughts of the future cut-off and cornered in the back of his mind.

“No,” he admitted softly. “But you did?”

Bilbo lowered his head. “I was in quite a bit of denial about it… And… Well, I had such horrible, selfish thoughts.”

Thorin arched an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“I knew that if you had another episode… any sort of relapse… it would delay your discharge and you would stay here longer,” Bilbo said quietly, avoiding Thorin’s eye. “And I suppose a truly awful part of me hoped you’d be triggered again.”

The guilt was obvious in Bilbo’s pained expression, but, as terrible as his admission was, it was also human… and honest. Thorin appreciated that, especially when he thought Bilbo had raised his guard again.

“I don’t blame you for thinking about it,” he said seriously. “And I’m not going to hold it against you.”

Bilbo smiled at that, meeting Thorin’s gaze. “Anyway, it really is brilliant that you’re being discharged, and at the height of British summertime too.”

The guard was back up and Bilbo’s smile was armour-plated. Thorin wanted to shake him, to drag them both kicking and screaming onto the topic of what his departure really meant.

“Bilbo, I –”

“How are you feeling about it?”

The question caught Thorin off-guard and he stared at Bilbo. How was he feeling? Was this a trick question? I am absolutely shitting myself, Thorin thought, but what’s worse is that I don’t want to leave you… I don’t think I can do this without you… My heart is crumbling in my chest and you won’t talk about it…

“Terrified,” Thorin muttered, eyes focused on his slippers.

“Thorin,” Bilbo said gently, and then a bandaged hand was carefully reaching for his own.

Thorin let Bilbo take his hand, feeling the bandages brush against his fingers. The touch was almost too much to bear.

“One of us should get out of here,” Bilbo continued. “And I know it doesn’t feel like it now, but you are going to be alright… You’re going to go back into the world and move on, live, find someone, and be happy.”

Thorin yanked his hand from Bilbo’s as if he had been burned and suddenly his heart was booming in his ears. “ _Find someone_?” he choked out. “Someone… _else_?”

“This… what we have, it’s not going to work once you’re discharged,” Bilbo said, the colour slowly slipping from his face.

The room was spinning violently around him and Thorin could hear the wind rushing in his ears. He hadn’t expected this… Not this… Anything but Bilbo refusing to even try continuing their relationship.

“Bilbo, please…” Thorin whispered, frustrated tears blurring his vision. “I… I don’t want anyone else.”

Bilbo’s lips twitched and his eyes were large and round, but his expression betrayed no emotion and it was tearing Thorin apart. “I’ve been here for three years, Thorin. I’m as much of an establishment as Bifur… I know the score. And I’m not going to be a burden to you.”

“A _burden_?” Thorin repeated, watery eyes wide with disbelief. “You could never be a burden to me.”

Bilbo said nothing, his expression set, lips pressed tightly together, and Thorin was desperately fumbling about in every corner of his mind, trying to find every possible point he could argue. He was going to fight Bilbo on this. No way was he giving up on them this easily.

“Loads of patients here have partners,” he insisted. “They have children… and families… If they can manage it, why can’t we?”

“It’s different.”

“Like hell it is!” Thorin growled, feeling the tears begin to slide down his cheeks, into his beard. Panicking, but managing to calm himself, he spoke again: “Bilbo… we… we have to try. Please… it can’t end like this.”

Bilbo sat stoically in place. “I’m so sorry, Thorin.”

“What are you so afraid of?!” Thorin exploded, hands reaching to his head in frustration.

But Bilbo barely flinched. “Okay… I can’t do this now.”

He slid from the bed and began walking away. Thorin watched him with the terrifying notion that if he let Bilbo walk through the door, he would never see him again. And so he said the only thing he thought might make Bilbo stop, might make him understand.

“I love you.”

And Bilbo stopped.

The words had never been uttered before and it was like speaking in a foreign language. The syllables stumbled out, shaky and unsure of themselves, and so Thorin tried again, louder and with greater force: “I love you.”

Bilbo’s shoulders sank and then he turned, slowly. His expression was completely unfathomable as he answered: “You shouldn’t.”

Suddenly Thorin was moving from the bed, anger and grief and love all propelling him forward, and he reached for Bilbo’s shoulders, pulling him towards him.

“I don’t give a fuck whether you think I should or shouldn’t, I do,” he said, his shining blue eyes burning into Bilbo. And then, realising the unintended harshness of his tone, his voice softened: “I love you, Bilbo… And I will come and visit you every day for the next fifty years, and I will never stop loving you.”

Surprised by his own eloquence, Thorin’s hands fell from Bilbo’s shoulders… He couldn’t quite believe he had actually managed to coherently express his emotions, and now his heart was in his throat as he waited for Bilbo’s response.

Bilbo was staring up at him now, and there were definite tears in his eyes as he spoke: “Loving each other won’t make this any easier, Thorin.”

Thorin’s heart was beginning a manic descent when it suddenly snagged on three of Bilbo’s words… _Loving each other_ … He swallowed and looked down at Bilbo, all articulacy gone and the awkwardness back in his posture. “You… love me?”

Bilbo’s expression was clouded with confusion and then what he had said seemed to dawn on him, and a smile appeared like a shaft of light. “Yes, I love you,” he murmured. “Of course I do… Ever since I walked past your room and saw you in Downward Facing Dog.”

They both laughed through their tears and Bilbo’s bandaged hands came up to rest against Thorin’s chest. Thorin wrapped his arms around Bilbo, trying to make sense of the spectrum of emotions coursing through him… fading anger and panic… fear… mourning… relief… exhaustion… love. He held Bilbo closer and leaned down, touching their foreheads together.

“I want to try,” Bilbo whispered, looking down at his hands, and Thorin screwed up his eyes, the relief leaving him in a soft breath.

Bilbo was quiet for a long time, and then when he next spoke his voice was broken and thick with remorse. “I… I said such horrid things to you… I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Thorin replied gently, one hand moving to Bilbo’s hair as the younger man pressed his face into his chest.

“I thought it would help… I didn’t mean to make things worse,” Bilbo mumbled, his voice catching, and Thorin felt the water soaking through the fabric of his t-shirt.

“I know,” Thorin said, the emotion heavy in his own voice. “I know.”

He pressed a soft kiss to Bilbo’s forehead and, as he held him even closer, there was a bright flash in the periphery of his vision. Thorin slowly turned his head to see the statue of Ganesh studying him with its large, pupil-less eyes. He rested his chin on Bilbo’s hair. The road that led further and further into ‘after’ may be forked and fraught with many obstacles, but, gods be damned, one way or another, he was taking Bilbo with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *dodges heavy objects being lobbed in my general direction*
> 
> Happy Easter, everyone! And thank you so much for your wonderful response to Chapter 16; reading your lovely comments makes me just so ridiculously happy, and I’m sure I would have abandoned this fic long ago if it wasn’t for your amazing support!
> 
> So, should you wish to make your reading experience even more painful, here are the songs I listened to whilst writing Chapters 16 and 17 (Sorry, I am technologically inept and unable to make an actual playlist!):
> 
> ‘So Nice, So Smart’ – Kimya Dawson  
> ‘Love of My Life’ (Rock Montreal 1981) – Queen  
> ‘Crazy’ – Art of Sleeping  
> ‘Long Way Down’ – Tom Odell  
> ‘Nothing in My Way’ – Keane  
> ‘White Blank Page’ – Mumford and Sons  
> ‘Pretty Buildings’ – People in Planes  
> ‘Starts With One’ – Shiny Toy Guns


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After the trauma of the last couple of chapters, I think you guys need something soft and cute and cuddly. Some sort of adorable animal, maybe…

“It’s a dog.”

“Yes, very observant of you, Thorin,” Dr. Grey said wryly, humour in his light blue eyes.

When Thorin had arrived in the doctor’s office for his session, he had not expected to find a Labrador and his owner standing by the room’s large window.

“This is Faramir Whitetree,” Dr. Grey continued, introducing the dog’s owner.

The man appeared to be in his early thirties, with shoulder-length, mucky blonde hair and week-old brown stubble. His casual clothes – jeans and a khaki t-shirt – seemed a bizarre contrast to the hospital lanyard, laden with cards and keys, hanging around his neck. He smiled at Thorin, but didn’t offer his hand. Thorin turned his frown back onto Dr. Grey, indicating that he needed more information, and quickly.

“Faramir is the lead trainer at a little project of mine,” the doctor explained. “The hospital is working with several charities to ensure our patients have the best possible reintegration experiences.”

Thorin felt his stomach clench as his eyes returned to Faramir. _Reintegration_. _Discharge planning_. _Escorted leave_. The words buzzed about angrily in his head, knocking into each other, beating at his temples.

“And this,” Dr. Grey said warmly, indicating the chocolate-coloured Labrador, “is Dain. Faramir has been working with him very closely, and we feel he will play a very key, beneficiary role in your reintegration.”

“You’re giving me a dog?” Thorin asked lamely, feeling his heart begin a heavy thudding in his chest.

 _A dog_. This was his parting gift from the hospital? Dain was sitting on the floor next to Faramir, peering across the room at Thorin, his head tilted slightly. He had barely moved since Thorin had entered the room, and he was yet to make a sound. It was almost eerie, and Thorin didn’t like it.

“It was an option we discussed in our last session,” Dr. Grey said quietly, studying Thorin, undeterred by his hostile posture.

Thorin knew the idea of a Psychological Assistance Dog had been mentioned, but that session had been so overwhelming, so unutterably awful, that the thought of leaving the hospital with a new pet had barely been registered. Thorin had been far more occupied with agonising over other things… Images of Bilbo slamming his bleeding hands onto the floor suddenly burst before his eyes and Thorin gritted his teeth.

“Dain, here, is very special indeed.” Dr. Grey moved to stand next to Dain, amiably scratching him behind one of his ears. “He is one of the best Psychological Assistance Dogs to be fully-trained in the UK, and I think the two of you will work very well together.”

Thorin was growing frustrated now. The ache in his chest, which he hadn’t been able to shift since the news of his impending discharge, was spreading out, causing twinges in his neck and shoulders. He was having enough trouble trying to process the idea of leaving the hospital and all that entailed… He didn’t need this as well. He glared at Dain, sitting there in his bright yellow coat that had ‘Assistance Dog’ printed down both sides of it.

“I don’t want him,” Thorin said, his voice low and dangerous.

“Thorin –”

“I already have a fucking huge scar on the side of my head! I don’t need a dog in a high-vis jacket as well!”

A long silence stretched out in the room. Dr. Grey didn’t react, and Faramir never flinched, he only reached out to stroke Dain’s head, as if to reassure him. Colour flooded Thorin’s cheeks and his face felt unbearably hot… He knew he was embarrassing himself, but he felt cornered. What were they expecting him to say? He didn’t like this: being directly confronted by the drastic changes soon to occur. But admitting just how bloody terrified he was wasn’t easy, so instead he had decided to yell at strangers and their dogs.

“I understand that, Thorin,” Dr. Grey said calmly. “But Dain is not here to be a hindrance to you. Having an Assistance Dog is a way to ensure your comfort and your independence when you leave us.”

Thorin raised an eyebrow. “Independence?” he murmured. He wasn’t sure how being babysat by a dog meant he was being independent.

“You’ll feel more comfortable being at home on your own,” Faramir said, speaking for the first time. “And he’ll help build your confidence with being out and about without your family or friends.”

At first, Thorin bristled at Faramir’s assessment, but then a voice inside his head told him to back down: he was only getting riled up because these were all things he didn’t want to hear. Of course he had started worrying that his presence was going to become burdensome for Dis, Fili, and Kili… If having a dog around could stop that from happening…

“He’s also a pretty good sounding board,” Faramir continued, grinning down at Dain. “A lot of patients find it comforting to have a completely non-judgemental and objective listener.”

“You’re expecting me to talk to the dog?” Thorin asked, frowning at Dain again. “Where did he get his degree in Psychology?”

Thorin was trying his best to be petulant, but Faramir just laughed. “Oh, he’s used to me moaning to him about my day, aren’t you, Dain?” the trainer said, stroking Dain’s head again, and his tail began to wag excitedly. “Honestly, it really does help.”

“We are not going to force Dain on you, Thorin,” Dr. Grey said carefully. “I would like him to accompany you on all your escorted and unescorted visits, but if you feel that the two of you are really not compatible, and Dain is not going to aid your reintegration, then we shall happily find him another partner.”

Thorin’s heart threw itself into his ribs with a shuddering smack. _Escorted and unescorted visits_. As final and definite a blow as his discharge had seemed, it was, of course, provisional and subject to various factors over the next ten days. He would need to visit Dis’ home, first with an escort from the hospital, and then on his own, and finally he would need to spend the night there to assess whether he really was ready to return to the real world. It felt as if he was on trial, under more scrutiny than ever, and these feelings crept back to plague him now.

“I’ve prepared a booklet for you that explains all the tasks Dain is capable of and all the benefits of being partnered with a Psychological Assistance Dog,” Dr. Grey said, retrieving a folder from his desk.

He held it out, but Thorin, being unconvinced, uncomfortable, and well aware he was reverting to the behaviour expected of a five-year-old, refused to take it, and simply stared at his doctor.

“I’ll just leave this here,” came Dr. Grey’s knowing response, and he placed the folder on the low coffee table between the two leather armchairs used for sessions. “Now, Faramir and I would like to give you and Dain some time to get to know each other, so we’ll step outside the office and let you introduce yourself.”

Thorin was sure he couldn’t raise his eyebrow any further. “You’re joking?”

“No, I don’t believe I am,” Dr. Grey smiled.

Faramir unclipped the lead from Dain’s collar and reached into his jeans’ pocket. He produced a handful of dog treats, which Dain gobbled down eagerly as his trainer murmured something to him. Was he actually giving the dog a pep-talk? Well, Thorin thought morosely, as the feelings of embarrassment returned, who could blame him?

“We’ll be just down the corridor,” the doctor prompted. “I’ll leave my office door ajar, and we’ll come back and see how you’re doing in ten minutes or so.”

Thorin wasn’t quick enough with his sarcastic retort, and Dr. Grey and Faramir exited the room, leaving him alone with Dain. For a few long moments, Thorin simply stood there, warily eyeing the dog, which didn’t move, just stared back at him, head slightly tilted with open curiosity.

“Could you act more like a dog for a second?” Thorin groaned.

And then Dain’s tail started wagging furiously, his mouth opening in a pant, as if triggered by his voice.

Thorin’s eyes widened. “What the…? Okay, there is no way you understood that.”

Letting out a sigh, he moved over to one of the leather armchairs and slumped down into it, rubbing at his temples. If Dr. Grey and Faramir returned to find Dain sitting in the exact same spot, they weren’t going to be impressed… And Thorin wasn’t sure he could handle the doctor’s tactical ‘I won’t comment but I am very disappointed in you, Thorin’ face. He glanced over at Dain, who was still staring at him expectantly.

“Alright, come over here, then,” Thorin said, sighing again as he extended his hand.

Dain reacted instantly and came to Thorin’s knee, gently licking at his outstretched fingers. Thorin watched as Dain started to nuzzle at his hand, and he couldn’t help it: he smiled. He moved his hand away and started to scratch behind the dog’s ear, imitating Faramir’s movements, and Dain leaned in to the touch before settling his head on Thorin’s knee. It was a warm weight, and oddly comforting.

“I wasn’t shouting at you,” Thorin murmured, continuing to scratch behind Dain’s ear. “I’m just very grumpy… And you really don’t want to get stuck with me.”

Dain’s dark brown eyes were warm and alert, and Thorin was surprised to see the look of intelligence and understanding in them… as if he was actually listening. He blinked up at him and shuffled closer, nudging at his leg, before resting his head on his knee again and closing his eyes.

“You like being scratched behind your ears, don’t you?” Thorin smiled, moving his other hand so he could tickle both ears… and then he stopped. He had just cooed at the dog. Oh for fuck’s sake, he thought, I’m talking to the dog… I’m talking to the dog and it’s making me feel better. I hate it when Dr. Grey’s right. Which is always.

“Bilbo would like you,” he continued, knowing there was no use denying himself some comfort now. His heart sank a little when he realised that, even in this situation, his mind had returned to its centre of gravity, but maybe Dain was supposed to help with that as well. “He used to have a Labrador like you when he was growing up… I wonder if they’ll let you meet him today.”

Dain’s tail started wagging at this, and Thorin almost laughed, stroking Dain’s head. “You like meeting new people, don’t you? Well, then, you’re my complete opposite.”

After a few minutes of idly stroking Dain’s head, Thorin’s eyes fell on the folder in front of him. His shoulders sinking, he reluctantly reached for it, surprised when Dain easily adjusted his position and manoeuvred himself so he was sitting between Thorin’s knees, staring out towards the door.

Opening the folder in his lap, Thorin’s hand returned to scratch at Dain’s neck. “So let’s see what tricks you’re supposed to do then…”

His eyes scanned the list, and he felt his stomach tighten… _Dog is trained to retrieve medication from specific location… can nudge specific household member in case of crisis… deliver medication reminders, trained to nudge partner at certain time of day… provide tactile stimulation to disrupt emotional overload…_

Thorin closed the folder, returning it to the table, and swallowed, trying to relieve the sickly feeling crawling up his throat. Once again, he was being confronted with the reality of his situation, and what leaving the safety of the hospital really meant. As if sensing his distress, Dain turned himself around and nudged at Thorin’s hand, licking his fingers, more insistently this time.

“You’re going to help me out, then?” Thorin asked quietly. “Make sure I do okay out there?”

The office door swung open and Dr. Grey and Faramir appeared. The doctor’s expression was full of quiet triumph. “Ah, sorry to interrupt.”

Thorin couldn’t bring himself to glare at the doctor, who had just, unsurprisingly, been proven right. He expected Dain to return to Faramir, but he stayed put, resting his head on Thorin’s knee again.

“Have you behaved yourself, Mister?” Faramir asked, grinning at Dain as he came to Thorin’s side.

Dain’s tail started wagging as he peered up at his trainer with excitement.

Faramir produced another treat from his pocket, extending his arm so as not to invade Thorin’s personal space, but so Dain could snuffle it off his palm. “Clever boy,” Faramir said, in obvious praise, as Dain licked his lips.

Thorin scratched under Dain’s chin as he turned to Faramir, his expression contrite. “I’m… sorry. For shouting,” he said quietly. “This is all just a bit… scary for me.”

Faramir nodded solemnly: there was no pity in his expression, only understanding. “Being discharged is difficult, but that’s why we’re here.”

Dain suddenly let out a long yawn, and Thorin smiled. “Are we boring you?” He then turned back to Faramir. “Is Dain allowed on the ward?”

“Of course,” Faramir replied. “If you decide to work with him, he’ll come with you to all your appointments and visits here.”

Thorin continued to stroke Dain’s head, looking tentative. “Oh… It’s just there’s someone I’d like him to meet.”

 

…

 

With a terrifyingly sharp intake of breath, Thorin threw himself upright, dragging himself back to consciousness. The walls were shifting before his eyes in the dark gold morning light and he knew the nausea was going to make him sick. Lurching to his left, he staggered to Bilbo’s sink, clutching at the enamel that was barely whiter than his trembling fingers. His stomach heaved, but offered up nothing, so he was simply retching, and only bile burned in his throat.

The dream hadn’t been as lucid as the usual nightmares: there was no desert, no blood, no one there at all. It hadn’t been about what he could see; it had been about everything he had felt: vulnerable, exposed, alone, and like he couldn’t breathe. His lungs still felt ten times smaller than usual as he hunched over the sink, drawing in shallow, ragged breaths…

And then there was a hand at his back, rubbing slow and soothing circles between his shoulder blades. Another hand came to rest on his forearm, anchoring him, and Thorin screwed up his eyes, trying to focus on the warmth of Bilbo’s touch.  

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice rough and raw. He spat into the sink, trying to clear the bile from his throat, and his stomach shuddered. He felt disgusting.

“You don’t need to be sorry,” Bilbo replied gently, his hand leaving Thorin’s arm so he could run the taps and wash out the sink.

Thorin watched the water swirling in front of him and drew in another, longer breath. “I woke you up,” he murmured. “Are you alright?”

They both knew that sharing a bed had its dangers: their nightmares could easily trigger each other, and Bilbo didn’t react well to being woken unexpectedly, but this seemed to pale in comparison to the comfort and intimacy of being near each other during the night, and they agreed that they were more than willing to risk it.

“I’m fine,” Bilbo whispered, retrieving a soft flannel and squeezing it under the tap. “My neck’s a bit sore, but we can do some yoga to sort that out.”

There was humour in Bilbo’s voice, but Thorin didn’t respond, only flexed his fingers around the edge of the sink. He then stayed as still as stone and let Bilbo carefully wipe his mouth and beard with the flannel, sensing this was something the younger man needed to do.

“Are you still feeling sick?”

Thorin slowly shook his head: his insides were aching, but he knew he wasn’t going to throw anything up.

“Okay, then let’s get you back to bed.”

Bilbo took his hand and guided him to lie back down. Thorin tried to curl up on his side, but Bilbo reached for him again.

“No, no, that won’t help… You need to lie down flat, stretch yourself out,” Bilbo said softly. He coaxed him into a straighter position, before clambering back onto the bed next to him.

“How are we doing, Thorin?”

Thorin slowly lifted his head to see Poppy standing in the doorway. The nurse seemed to be purposefully keeping her distance, as if she didn’t want to enter some sort of sacred space. He supposed she thought it better if he and Bilbo handled this themselves.

“Fine,” Thorin grunted, his head hitting the pillow again.

Poppy lingered for another few moments, no doubt assessing the situation. “Okay, well if you need anything, I’ll be at the nurses’ station.”

“Thank you, Poppy,” Bilbo said warmly, effectively dismissing the nurse.

There were a few moments of silence as Bilbo settled himself on his side next to Thorin, and then he asked quietly: “And how are we really doing?”

Thorin let out a shuddering breath. “Stomach hurts,” he muttered, still not turning to look at Bilbo, knowing there was no point lying to him… feeling he owed him his honesty.

A hand came to rest on his stomach and Bilbo started rubbing more soothing circles. The hand was unbelievably warm, the heat felt through the bandages and Thorin’s pyjama top, and it was definitely easing the ache. Thorin dared to look up at Bilbo then, and he returned an easy smile. He hoped Bilbo didn’t know he was thinking it, but still the thought was there, being churned together with the sickly feelings: why, when he was lying on the bed, struggling to breathe, having his stomach rubbed, was he the one being discharged?

“It’s normal to feel nervous before leave,” Bilbo said, breaking the silence, his hand continuing to rub Thorin’s stomach. “This isn’t a setback, Thorin, it’s just your body’s natural response to stress.”

Thorin frowned into the ceiling. In approximately six hours he and Rosie were going to take a taxi to Dis’ house for one hour of escorted leave. If Thorin coped, he would be allowed another escorted leave, if not, his discharge date would be pushed back… And it felt like the whole world was watching him, waiting to see if he would stumble.

“Will you tell me?”

“Tell you what?” Thorin asked, hoping he didn’t sound too gruff.

“What’s bothering you about your first leave.”

Letting out a quiet breath, Thorin closed his eyes. What _wasn’t_ bothering him about his first leave? There were so many things that could go wrong, and it wasn’t just him in the equation anymore.

“What if I have an episode in front of Kili?” Thorin said, his voice catching. “He and Fili have been through enough… They don’t need to… see something like that.”

His niece and nephew had suffered the loss of their father and their grandparents; Thorin didn’t want to force any more unpleasantness on them. In the hospital, everything was controlled, there were safety nets… It wouldn’t be the same when he was living in their house.

“They love you, Thorin,” Bilbo said, shuffling closer to him on the bed. “And they want to help you get better. They know it’s not going to be easy, and they’re not expecting you to be the perfect uncle all the time.”

Thorin knew Bilbo was right: they weren’t expecting it, but he was expecting it of himself. He wasn’t finding it easy to accept that no one was going to judge him for having bad days.

“You know they’ve been to a few relatives’ sessions already, so they do know what to expect,” Bilbo continued, his hand stilling on Thorin’s stomach. “And you’re going to have Dain to help you out too.”

Images of Bilbo cuddling Dain suddenly filled Thorin’s mind. The younger man’s whole face had lit up as he was introduced to the Labrador, and Thorin could still see him scratching Dain behind the ears and saying: “You’re going to take care of Thorin for me, aren’t you? Will you do that for me?” Dain had furiously wagged his tail and licked Bilbo’s hands, as if a pact had been made. A weight slowly sank in Thorin’s stomach. He and Bilbo were shying away from discussion of his final discharge, and he wasn’t going to force the issue: they had decided to stay together, and that was all he needed to know for now.

Meeting Bilbo’s eye again, he found he was being studied with a gentle smile. Bilbo’s eyes were warm, but sad at the same time. Thorin slowly lifted a hand to cup Bilbo’s cheek and he leaned in to it.

“I love you,” he whispered, still amazed that he was allowed to say these hallowed words, and that they were so unutterably true. He found himself wanting to say them all the time, but then he was scared they might rust and fade and lose their meaning, so he kept them as a secret to himself, to be shared with Bilbo only when he felt he needed to remind him.

Bilbo smiled and turned his head to kiss Thorin’s palm. “I love you too,” he replied softly, and then slowly lowered himself down from his elbow, resting his head against Thorin’s shoulder, draping an arm across his chest.

Thorin wrapped his arms around Bilbo, still quite surprised at how comfortable this felt: he really had come so far since the early days at the hospital… and now those days were coming to an end. Thorin held Bilbo closer. Time was not on their side anymore. Even if his final discharge was pushed back, the process had started, and his moments left with Bilbo in their own shared space, a space that was theirs alone, were trickling slowly away, like sand through an hourglass, and there was very little either of them could do to stop it.

 

…

 

It wasn’t until the taxi turned onto the main road that Thorin realised it had been almost six months since he had actually driven or been driven anywhere. He straightened his back against the seat and fidgeted with his jeans as he glanced out the window, trying to slow his breathing as he watched the other lane of traffic whizz past. Dain was sitting on the seat beside him, his panting showing his excitement. Thorin didn’t really want to think about the fact that he was riding with an actual dog and yet he was the one feeling the most uncomfortable.

He looked across Dain to Rosie, and the nurse smiled back at him. Thank God he wasn’t being sent with Radagast: he hadn’t asked Faramir if Dain could attack on command. Yes, Rosie was definitely a lesser evil, but he still wasn’t quite sure what to say to her… He didn’t really do small talk, but being trapped inside his own head, trapped in a moving car, wasn’t looking favourable either.

“Thorin?”

Thorin turned to Rosie, opening his mouth to reply, but not quite getting there.

“Okay, we’re facing an uncomfortable twenty minute drive, so you need to treat me like a radio,” the nurse said, still smiling. “Either you can turn me off completely, and I won’t say anything at all to you, and that’s completely fine… Or we can talk about where we’re going and why… Or I can tell you about all the terribly devious things I got up to on nights out during my nurses’ training.”

Thorin’s lips twitched into a smile. “How devious are we talking?”

“Oh, you have no idea.”

Several rather graphic anecdotes later, they arrived in a large, leafy suburb, and the taxi pulled up outside what was to be Thorin’s home for the foreseeable future. The three-storey, semi-detached house was hardly imposing, but still Thorin felt his heart hammering in his chest as he walked with Dain and Rosie up the short drive-way to the front door, which was painted a dark, regal blue. Thorin clutched at Dain’s lead as they came to a stop, and Rosie glanced across at him.

“Ready?” she whispered.

Thorin exhaled slowly, nodding, and so Rosie pushed the doorbell.

“No! No! Let me answer it!”

Kili’s excited voice sounded from the other side of the door, followed by Fili’s warning: “Okay, Kee, but you need to calm down first.”

After another long moment, the door opened, and Thorin found his niece, nephew, and sister all grinning at him in the hallway.

“Hi, Uncle Thorin!” Kili exclaimed, his brown eyes unbelievably bright.

“Hello,” Thorin replied quietly, as everyone backed further into the hallway so he and Rosie could step inside.

“Hi, Dain!” Kili dropped down in front of Thorin and started to stroke Dain’s back.

Dain bore the attention admirably, and Thorin found himself smiling down at both of them. He knew Faramir had already brought Dain to the house for a training session to acquaint him with the space, and Kili had been beside himself at this new addition to their family.

“Thanks for getting us a free dog, Uncle Thorin,” Kili said earnestly, scratching Dain’s ears.

Thorin restrained himself from making an unhelpful comment about there being some perks to his situation, but he still glanced at Fili. The irony was in his expression, and it made his niece smirk.

“Right, well, I thought we’d start with a house tour,” Dis said happily. “Shall we go to the kitchen first?”

“Mum’s got this whole estate agent spiel prepared,” Fili commented. “You’ll definitely want to buy the house by the time we’re done.”

Dis shot her daughter a reproving look, but it was only half-hearted in its iciness. Aware of how cramped the hallway had become with the five of them and Dain, they moved down to the kitchen, filing in one after the other, with the only sound being Dain’s paws clicking on the wooden floors. Thorin was the last to enter, and he was surprised by how bright and open the kitchen was. There were sparkling white units around three walls and a dominating wooden table at the centre, set with four chairs. It would have looked like a show home if it wasn’t for the various bits and bobs taped to the fridge and walls: receipts, shopping lists, appointment reminders, photographs, and drawings… and then Thorin spotted the patterned dog bed by the back door, complete with beige pottery bowl. Thorin reached his hand out for Dain, and the dog snuffled against his hand and licked his fingers.

“This is such a lovely kitchen,” Rosie commented, sensing the need for something to be said to fill the silence. “Though it’s so big, it must be a nightmare to clean.”

“Mum was cleaning it at six o’ clock this morning!” Kili announced. “And me and Fili cleaned the bathroom and our bedrooms last night… I never make my bed during the holidays, but Mum said I had to do it today.”

Thorin slowly turned to his sister. “Dis,” he said softly. “You didn’t have to… to do all this. I’m not going to stay away just because there are dirty dishes in the sink.”

“I know, I know,” Dis replied, trying to shrug off her obvious embarrassment. “I just wanted everything to be nice for you… And it wasn’t six in the morning… It was much closer to eight.”

She was grinning now, and it made Thorin feel better.

“So, Uncle, have you spotted your ‘moving in present’ yet?”

Thorin saw Fili peering over at him, and his stomach flipped. “Present...? You… You didn’t have to get me anything.”

Fili moved around the kitchen and gestured to something wrapped in a bright red ribbon next to the sink. Only he could have missed it.

“Ta-Dah!” Fili said, with a flourish. “We got you a coffee machine, to make up for all the caffeine you’ve missed… I picked it out myself.”

Thorin moved around the table to inspect his present, and his eyes flitted to Fili. “Thank you,” he said warmly, feeling unexpected emotion stirring in his chest.

“It’s nothing fancy,” Fili said, still clearly quite proud of her purchase. “And it sounds like someone being exorcised when it steams the milk, but the coffee actually tastes really good.”

“Yes, you’ve been through a bag of those pods already,” Dis commented over her brother’s shoulder.

“What? I was just testing it,” Fili said innocently, grinning at Thorin.

“Okay, now, living room?”

The house tour continued and Thorin was shown around the cosy, cushion-stuffed lounge area that was also packed full of framed photographs – some of which were fairly embarrassing and he swore Rosie to secrecy. They moved upstairs, stopping briefly in the white and blue tiled family bathroom, then peeked into Dis’ room, that was equally filled with embarrassing photographs.

Next to Dis’ room was Fili’s room, and Thorin would have known it anywhere. The walls were painted a deep purple, though the colour was only just peeking through an array of posters, and a whole collage of photographs was tacked to one wall behind Fili’s bed. The dark purple throw was beaded and patterned with gold, and there was a string of white fairy lights hanging over her desk. The room was also full of little trinkets that were so unmistakably Fili. And there, sitting on the low window sill, was a statue of Ganesh, a doppelganger for Thorin’s own statue back at the hospital, and suddenly his chest felt tight. He held onto a breath as Bilbo’s face, gaunt and grey, flashed before his eyes.

But then Dain was nudging his hand and insistently licking his fingers, making Thorin release his breath. He looked down at Dain in surprise and then scratched his head approvingly. “Good boy,” he murmured, and then pulled a treat from his jeans’ pocket, discreetly feeding it to Dain as Faramir had instructed: it was important, at this stage, for him to be rewarded every time he correctly performed a task, and Thorin still couldn’t quite believe he had sensed his discomfort and acted to snap him out of it.

Looking up, he found everyone staring at him, and realised he hadn’t been as discreet as he’d hoped. However, there was fondness in their gazes and Rosie looked more impressed than anything. Still, he shifted uncomfortably on the spot, unsure of what to say to break the silence.

“How about we move onto your room?” Dis suggested, making Thorin’s heart stutter.

“Oh… Okay.”

Fili led the way across the hall, opening the door opposite her own. Thorin knew his niece had put herself in charge of organising his room, but he still wasn’t quite sure what he expected to find. He followed everyone inside and stopped. The room’s walls were light blue and there was a double bed at its centre which looked ridiculously huge compared to the beds Thorin was used to sleeping in.  The dark blue duvet complemented the walls, and there were four squares of golden light splashed across it from the large window. Behind the bed’s headboard was a white shelf, a third of the way filled with books. Thorin’s gaze moved to a curious addition to the room: there was a large whiteboard mounted on the wall opposite the window. Seven columns were set out on it, each headed with a day of the week, and a few notes were scribbled on in black marker… And Thorin realised these notes were the times of his escorted and unescorted leaves for the next week.

“This was my idea,” Fili said tentatively, following her uncle’s gaze. “I thought you could write down all your appointments and activities, so you don’t forget, and to help you visualise the week.”

Thorin managed a soft smile, the emotion stirring again. “Thank you, Fili,” he said quietly. “Where did you get the whiteboard?”

Dis snorted, and Fili looked sheepish. “No, go on; tell your uncle what you did.”

“Okay, so it’s really not that bad… But basically my friends and I tried to nick it from a skip outside our school… I mean they were throwing away a perfectly good whiteboard… Anyway, we got caught, but when I explained to the head teacher what I needed it for, they let me have it for free.”

Thorin stared at his niece in shock. “Fili… Furnishing my bedroom really isn’t worth you getting in trouble.”

Before Fili could reply, Kili was suddenly tugging on Thorin’s hand. He was surprised by the gesture, but luckily didn’t react too obviously.

“Uncle Thorin, can I show you my room now?” he asked, his knitted brows implying he was frustrated with his sister hogging all the attention.

“Lead the way, Kili.”

Thorin let Kili pull him eagerly out of the room and to the second flight of stairs, with everyone else following behind.

“I live in the attic,” Kili explained, seeming very proud of this fact. “It’s the best room in the house.”

Kili’s hand fell away as they reached the top of the stairs. Just as Fili’s room was uniquely hers, so too was Kili’s attic abode. Thorin spotted the bow and quiver of arrows leaning against the wall straight away, and he wondered what Dis thought about the possibility of her son practising archery up here. There were also several footballs, in various states of wear, scattered around the room. What made Thorin smile the most was the number of yellow sheets of writing and drawings that were pinned up around the room, and he recognised the newspaper article Kili had written about his and Bilbo’s escape to Esgaroth Coffee House. That day seemed so very long ago now, and he could still picture the ivy-coated terrace where he and Bilbo had toasted a job well done. Thorin ignored the twinge his heart gave as his eyes lingered on the sheet.

“Do you like it?” Kili asked hopefully, suddenly seeming to doubt his earlier proclamation.

Thorin smiled. “Of course, Kili… It’s very, er, you.”

Kili’s brown eyes lit up, and then his expression was serious again. “Mum says I can show you my FIFA games next time, but today you’re on a bit of a tight schedule.”

His nephew was obviously repeating Dis’ words verbatim, and Thorin lowered his head. “I’d like that.”

“Well, this pretty much completes the tour of the house,” Dis said, clapping her hands together. “Is there anything you’d like to do now?”

It was as if his sister’s words had suddenly provided a reality check, and Thorin was feeling overwhelmed again. The surreal nature of the situation had taken a while to sink in, but now his mind was suddenly bombarded with a backlog of new information… He needed some time to process it.

Thorin looked to Rosie as he spoke. “I… I think I need a moment to myself.”

Everyone in the room seemed to stiffen at this, and it didn’t help Thorin’s anxiety. However, the response came quickly and calmly.

“Why don’t you go and sit in your room for a little while?” Rosie said, smiling, though her expression clearly indicated she was back in nurse-mode. “You can come and join us when you’re ready.”

Thorin nodded, and then the party slowly moved down the stairs. Dis took Kili to finish writing their weekly shopping list, and Rosie and Fili came to a stop with Thorin outside his room.

“I’m going to go and sit in Fili’s room,” Rosie explained. “I’ll leave this door pushed to, come and get me if you need anything.”

“Okay,” Thorin murmured, before going to sit on the edge of his bed.

Rosie closed the door and disappeared with Fili into her room, leaving Thorin alone with Dain, and the overwhelming sense that _this was it_. Dain settled his head on Thorin’s knee and he scratched at his ears, peering around the blue room that was now rightfully his. His room. Everything was feeling very new and displaced at the moment… Thorin himself felt out of place here, but he supposed it was always going to take some getting used to. He had been trapped in limbo at the hospital, suspended in a static space, closed off from the real world. And now it was time to move forward…

Glancing at his bedside table, Thorin stopped. There was a photograph in a thin silver frame sitting in one corner of it. Shuffling further up the bed, he picked up the frame, holding it in both his hands. It was a photo of him with Fili, and Kili, taken about eight years ago, the day they climbed up Cringle Moor. Kili had only been four at the time, and even though he had to be carried up some parts, he had made a valiant effort at climbing most of the slope. Thorin stared at the picture of his younger self, clean-shaven and grinning, his arms wrapped around his niece and nephew, with Kili snuggling into his side, and nine-year-old Fili leaning in to the other.

Thorin studied the photo for a long time, and it took him a while to register that his anxiety, and his feelings of displacement, had begun to fade. This room contained his past, his present, and his future… and he couldn’t let the fear get the better of him now. Inhaling deeply, he placed the photo frame back on the bedside table and stood up, moving over to the door, Dain following at his side.

Fili had left her bedroom door wide open and so he didn’t knock as he entered the room. Fili and Rosie were sitting on her bed and both smiled up at him as he shuffled in.

“Hey,” Fili said brightly.

Thorin returned his niece’s smile, and then looked to Rosie. “Am I allowed coffee?” he asked, hesitantly, rocking on his heels.

Rosie’s smile widened. “I’d say your caffeine ban has been lifted, yeah.”

“Oh… I was, er, just wondering if I could try out my coffee machine?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See, guys, I haven’t forgotten how to do unadulterated fluff!
> 
> Now, unlike the US and other countries, the UK doesn’t legally recognise Psychological Assistance Dogs as service dogs. However, there are several charities that are working towards getting this recognition, and I thought it made a lot of sense to have Gandalf pioneering a programme to get PADs the recognition they deserve and get patients the assistance they need. 
> 
> The information about the tasks Dain is able to carry out can be found here:  
> http://www.iaadp.org/psd_tasks.html
> 
> And once again, everyone, thank you so much for your feedback and your support with this fic. I can’t believe the absolutely amazing response to Chapter 17, and it really does mean the world to me!
> 
> EDIT: The wonderful Demonatic/thehobbitpanda has done me the honour of drawing an absolutely stunning piece of fanart for this fic. You can find it here: 
> 
> http://thehobbitpanda.tumblr.com/post/116910319976/thehobbitpanda-my-fanart-for-the-lovely-fanfic
> 
> Seriously, guys, it's so lovely, please do nip over to their Tumblr and have a look! :)


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "When he  
> Shuts a door –  
> Is not there –  
> Your arms are water.  
> And you are free  
> With a ghastly freedom.  
> You are the beautiful half  
> Of a golden hurt."
> 
> \- Gwendolyn Brooks

In music, it’s called _accelerato_. A sudden increase in tempo. Time slowly moving forward, and then the world is a blur, and everything is changing. Thorin wasn’t quite sure where the week had gone. He saw it all flashing in his mind like mismatched scenes from someone else’s life: his second hour of escorted leave with Rosie, his first visit without a chaperone from the hospital, playing football with Kili in the back garden, practising yoga with Fili in the shade of their enormous oak tree, the four of them sitting down to lunch at the kitchen table as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

The days had disappeared before Thorin could really grasp hold of them, and the slow turning of life at the hospital, its comforting feelings of stasis and routine and consistency, were dissolved in the rush to this determinate end point. And now Thorin found himself packing a rucksack, ready for his overnight stay at Dis’. If all went well with this final unescorted leave, Thorin only had one more day and one more night left at the hospital until he was discharged, and he would never find the words to articulate how he truly felt about this fact.

“Pyjamas?”

“Yep.”

“Toothbrush and toothpaste?”

“Erm…” Thorin unzipped the front pocket of the bag. “Check.”

“Change of clothes for tomorrow? Socks? Underwear?”

“Bollocks.”

Bilbo was grinning as Thorin moved around the bed to the chest of drawers against the wall, muttering under his breath as he went.

“What did you forget?” Bilbo asked innocently, hovering at his side.

Thorin huffed as he quickly retrieved a pair of black briefs from his top drawer, studiously avoiding Bilbo’s eye as he went to put them in his overnight bag.

“Go on, laugh,” he sighed, unzipping the main compartment again.

Bilbo did let out a chuckle as he came to stand at the foot of the bed. “So were you planning on going commando tomorrow, or…?”

“Shut up or I’ll throw them at you,” Thorin growled, though there was warmth in his voice as he glanced at Bilbo.

Bilbo returned a bright smile, and Thorin’s gaze moved back to the rucksack… and then he stopped. In the periphery of his vision, he saw Bilbo’s face fall. The mask of good-humoured teasing slipped away, leaving a sadness so stark it set off a dull throbbing in Thorin’s chest. He stilled over the bag, inhaling deeply.

“Thorin?”

Straightening up, Thorin deftly slid on a mask of his own. “Okay… I think I’ve got everything.”

“Excellent.” Bilbo’s smile was back in place. “So what’s your itinerary for the visit, then?”

“Uh, I think we’re ordering in pizza and watching films tonight… And Fili won’t tell me what they’ve got planned for tomorrow morning: I think it’s meant to be a surprise, which is fairly worrying…”

“Well, I look forward to hearing all about it,” Bilbo said cheerfully… far too cheerfully.

The strain was in his eyes, even if it wasn’t in his expression. The air between them suddenly became heavier, making Thorin’s throat tighten. “And… what have you got planned for the evening?”

He knew it wasn’t a question Bilbo wanted him to ask, but he needed to know he was going to be alright… that he wasn’t going to be sitting in his room all night, waiting for him to come back.

“Oh, you know, nothing adventurous, just the usual bar crawl, ending up in a kebab shop at four a.m.,” Bilbo said wryly, though there was little humour in his voice.

“Bilbo…” Thorin whispered, and it was clearly a plea.

With a sigh, Bilbo gave in: “I’m going to eat dinner with Bifur and Ori… Rosie has promised to come and harass me on her breaks, and I’ll be Skyping Prim and Drogo at some point too.”

Thorin felt some of the tension slip from his shoulders. He reminded himself that it was selfish to think that Bilbo’s life revolved entirely around their relationship: Bilbo had far more friends at the hospital than he did, and he had lived there for over two years before Thorin came along.

“That’s great,” Thorin said, managing a smile. “Will you tell your cousins I say ‘Hello’?”

“Of course… Though Prim is going to be gutted she can’t screech at you through the screen.”

The ache returned to Thorin’s chest as the implications of his absence began clotting the air again, and he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say… And then he was saved from answering when the familiar patter of paws on linoleum sounded out in the corridor and Faramir appeared in the doorway, Dain at his heels.

“Evening all,” Faramir said pleasantly, moving into the room.

“Hello,” Thorin replied, his chest feeling infinitely lighter as he knelt down to greet Dain.

Dain lurched forward, straining on his lead to meet his partner, eagerly licking at Thorin’s fingers.

“You’re very excited about your sleepover, aren’t you, Dain?” Faramir said approvingly, passing the lead over to Thorin so the Labrador would stop straining.

Thorin looped the lead over his wrist and scratched behind Dain’s ears, looking up at the trainer. “Thanks for dropping him off.”

“No problem. So… You just need to put some food down for him around seven – Dis has already got everything in. How’s your supply of treats looking?”

“We’ve got plenty,” Thorin answered, smiling as he stroked Dain’s head. The Labrador shuffled closer to him and sat down.

“As for sleeping arrangements, it’s completely up to you. He can sleep on the floor or on the bed with you – whatever you’re comfortable with.”

Thorin nodded, smiling down at Dain. He and Faramir had discussed the tasks Dain was able to carry out when it came to his nightmares, and although it had been a rather difficult conversation, it was also strangely comforting to know just how capable the assistance dog really was.  Dain rested his head on Thorin’s knee, peering up at him with his bright, brown eyes that were a little darker than his chocolate coat.

“Okay.” Thorin turned to Bilbo, about to ask him if he wanted his turn coddling Dain, and froze. The look on the younger man’s face was unfamiliar and unfathomable; Thorin knew it could mean nothing good, but it vanished suddenly, as soon as Bilbo felt Thorin’s eyes on him.

“Right… well, I best be off, I’ve got a support group session starting soon,” Faramir announced, and Thorin was certain he too had witnessed Bilbo’s expression. “You should come along one evening, Thorin, if you feel up to it… It’s for outpatients partnered with assistance dogs, just for some extra training, to share experiences, and for the dogs to socialise.”

Thorin knew the implication was that it was also for _him_ to socialise, but he didn’t comment. “Thanks, I’ll think about it.”

Faramir nodded, and then his smile was turned on Bilbo. “Have a good evening, both of you. I’ll be around to pick Dain up at midday tomorrow.”

The trainer gave Dain an encouraging ‘Be good, Mister’ look, and with that, he was gone from the room, leaving Thorin and Bilbo and the suffocating quiet stretching out between them. Thorin slowly went to sit down in a chair by the window, Dain dutifully following. Bilbo reluctantly accepted the invitation and joined him by the window.

Thorin studied Bilbo for a few long moments, and then, unable to stop himself, asked softly: “What was that look about?”

Bilbo was obviously expecting the question, but there was another tense pause before the answer came: “I just never thought I’d be replaced by a dog.”

Thorin started, Bilbo’s unexpected, raw honesty cutting right through him. “Bilbo…” There was pain in his voice. “I’m not replacing you… You know I could never replace you.”

Bilbo wouldn’t look at him and instead he covered his face with his hands, shoulders slumping. “Shit…” he muttered. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

There was a spike slowly twisting itself into Thorin’s gut. Dis, Fili, and Kili would be here any minute to pick him up… but he couldn’t do it. The look of sadness he had seen out of the corner of his eye had burned itself onto the back of his mind, and now Bilbo’s façade was crumbling before him, the reality of the situation laid bare.

“I’m not going tonight,” Thorin declared, the decision made. “We need to talk about this.”

Bilbo’s head suddenly shot up. “Thorin, _no_.”

“I can’t leave you when you’re upset,” Thorin insisted, running his fingers over his temples. “We need to sort this out first.”

“Thorin.”

There was an edge in Bilbo’s voice, but Thorin ignored this warning: “I’ll stay here tonight… I’ll just have my discharge date pushed back by a day, I can do my overnight stay tomorrow and –”

“Thorin, I swear to God if you miss your leave for me I will never forgive you!”

Thorin stopped, Bilbo’s words biting like freezing water being thrown in his face. The younger man was shaking now and there were angry tears in his eyes, which were fixed on him, full of defiance and pain.

“I’m sorry,” Bilbo breathed, as if returning to himself. “I’m so sorry… I didn’t mean to get angry… Fuck…”

Dain let out a low whine, watching the proceedings with shining eyes, and no doubt sensing the distress emanating from both of them.

“Bilbo,” Thorin said gently, rising from his chair and going to kneel in front of him.

“I’m being so selfish,” Bilbo continued, attempting to blink the tears from his grey eyes. “I’m supposed to be supporting you… I’m sorry…”

Thorin reached up and took Bilbo’s hands in his, rubbing his thumbs over his fingers, hoping the movement would also sooth the pain in his own chest. “We support each other,” he murmured. “And you’re not being selfish.”

“I just don’t want you to miss tonight because of me,” Bilbo said, trying to hide the tremble in his voice. “Because if you do… It means I’m the one stopping you from making progress… And I am being a… a _burden_.”

Bilbo let out a hiccupped sob, and Thorin drew their foreheads together, one hand moving to Bilbo’s arm. He didn’t want to admit how terrifying this was for him: seeing Bilbo this vulnerable, and becoming so painfully aware that their roles had been well and truly reversed. Keeping his own anxieties at bay, he continued to rub Bilbo’s arm.

“You are not a burden,” he said firmly, ignoring the drop in his stomach as his mind dragged him back to the horrible moment Bilbo had tried to end everything between them. “I just need to know that you’ll be okay tonight if I go.”

Bilbo sniffed, but squeezed Thorin’s hand. “I’ll be fine,” he replied steadily. “I’ll be happy knowing that you’re spending time with your family…” His voice suddenly took on an official tone, and he spoke in an uncanny imitation of Dr. Grey: “And demonstrating how much progress you’ve made, my dear Thorin.”

Thorin gave a soft laugh. He was screwing up his eyes, trying to vanish his own threat of tears, when thudding footsteps sounded outside the room and…

“Uncle Thorin!”

Bilbo went impossibly still as Thorin’s hands slid from his and he slowly turned to his nephew, who had skidded to a halt in the middle of his room and was studying the scene with wide eyes.

“Oh.” The sound was very small, and very unlike Kili, who now clearly understood that he had interrupted something.

“Kili, mate,” Thorin said, trying to keep his voice even as his heartbeat thundered in his ears. “I’ll be out in a minute; do you want to grab my rucksack off the bed?”

“Okay.” Kili eyed Bilbo with concern, before looking away and going to retrieve his uncle’s overnight bag.

Thorin watched as he left the room without another word, one strap of the rucksack over his shoulder, and then he heard his voice out in the corridor: “No, Mum! You can’t go in: Uncle Thorin says he’ll be out in a minute!”

Turning back to Bilbo, Thorin twined their fingers again, and Dain let out another uneasy whine. Thorin shuffled to the side, letting Dain move himself between Bilbo’s knees and lick at his hands, obviously desperate to offer comfort.

Bilbo hastily rubbed at his eyes and then began to scratch behind Dain’s ears. “Now, Dain, you have to make sure Thorin behaves himself, alright?”

Dain’s tail began to wag excitedly in response and he let out a few pants as Bilbo stroked his head.

“You need to go,” Bilbo said quietly, eyes moving to Thorin.

Thorin nodded, but his chest still contracted painfully and he didn’t move.

“Thorin,” Bilbo urged, sounding more like himself again. “Come on, off with you.”

Grabbing Dain’s lead, Thorin slowly got to his feet. “See you tomorrow,” he said, bending down to squeeze Bilbo’s shoulder and peck a kiss to his forehead.

“See you tomorrow,” Bilbo agreed, smiling.

And the smile never faltered as Thorin left the room, glancing at him over his shoulder, until he finally turned away and went to meet everyone at the nurses’ station.

 

…

 

“It was the best practice ever… the team, inspired by the… pre… _presence_ of the Firebolt in their… mid-st, performed their best moves… fault… _faultlessly_.”

Kili frowned down at the page, covered in his yellow plastic overlay, his expression one of concentrated confusion. “Uncle Thorin, I don’t know what this word means.” He jabbed an accusatory finger at the page.

“‘Faultlessly’?” Thorin asked. “Oh… It, er, it means the team didn’t make any mistakes.”

“Oh, okay,” Kili said brightly. He then turned around and reached for a notebook and pen on the shelf behind his bed.

The drive back to the house had been a sedate affair; he had felt Dis and Fili watching him, trying to calculate his mood, and it hadn’t helped anything. However, the copious amounts of take-away pizza and the marathon of Disney films buried in the cushions of the comfy living room had greatly improved the situation: it meant Thorin didn’t need to talk and no one asked any questions, so it was easier to relax into the evening.

Although Dis had pointed out it was getting late, Kili had insisted he meet his reading quota for the day. His English teacher had given him several assignments over the summer to help improve his literacy levels, and Kili was making sure he followed all her instructions to the letter, which was why Thorin found himself sitting next to his nephew on his bed in his attic abode as they read _Harry Potter and The Prisoner of Azkaban_. Dain was lying at Thorin’s feet, almost invisible outside the glow of Kili’s bedside lamp, as his high-vis coat had been removed for the duration of the stay. Every so often he lifted his head, as if to check on Thorin, before returning to dozing on the wooden floor.

“Fault-less-ly.” Kili sounded out the word as he copied it down into the ‘new vocabulary’ column of his yellow-paged notebook. “And it means not making any mistakes?”

“Exactly,” Thorin smiled, and Kili quickly scribbled down the definition.

“Okay, we just need to finish this page, then I’ve read enough for today,” Kili announced, returning his notebook and pen to the shelf.

He continued reading, struggling over some words, but picking them up easily once Thorin offered gentle prompts. The activity was more than soothing: it focused Thorin’s mind, and more than that, it made a warm sense of pride swell in his chest. Kili was so conscientious when it came to improving his reading, and he persevered with every new challenge. Thorin couldn’t help but admire his nephew’s determination; he believed there was a lot to be learnt from it.

“… Night had fallen before Madam Hooch awoke with a start… told Harry and Ron off for not waking her… and in… _in-sis-ted_ that they go back to the castle,” Kili finished, closing the book with a look of triumph.

“Well done, Kili,” Thorin said, smiling as his nephew handed him the book so he could pop it back on a higher shelf.

After sliding the book into place, Thorin settled back next to Kili, and immediately clocked him biting his lip, studying him tentatively, and his stomach clenched.

“Uncle Thorin…” Kili said carefully. “Is Bilbo sad because you’re leaving hospital?”

Feeling his heartbeat hasten, Thorin reached down to rouse Dain. The Labrador responded instantly, and snuggled into Thorin’s leg, licking his fingers in reassurance.

“Yes,” Thorin replied, swallowing to try and budge the lump in his throat.

Kili nodded thoughtfully. “I was really upset when my best friend, Sam, moved schools in Year 6… I really missed him, but we still got to see each other at weekends… And I liked hanging out with him more ‘cause we couldn’t hang out all the time… So it made it better… Maybe it’ll make it better for you and Bilbo too.”

Thorin’s heartbeat began to slow again, though he kept scratching behind Dain’s ears. In his own way, Kili was trying to reassure him, trying to tell him that things would get better, and he couldn’t thank his nephew enough.

“Does Sam play football with you on Saturdays?”

“Yeah, he’s the striker on our team… Though he’s really jealous that my school lets us do archery. I let him have a go at shooting when he comes round.”

Kili fell quiet, and Thorin glanced at the clock on the bedside table. “I think we’re going to have to call it a night… Otherwise your mum will be after both of us.”

Smiling at this, Kili obediently slid further down his pillows and pulled his duvet up to his chin. Thorin flicked off Kili’s bedside lamp and rose from the bed.

“Night, Uncle Thorin.”

“Good night, Kili.”

Thorin was almost at the top of the stairs when Kili spoke again, his voice soft and sleepy: “Uncle Thorin?”

Thorin turned.

“I’m really glad you’re feeling better.”

Dipping his head in acknowledgement, Thorin smiled. “Thanks, mate.”

After creeping down the attic stairs, Thorin slipped back into his room and changed for bed. He didn’t meet anyone as he went to brush his teeth in the bathroom, but he noted that both Dis’ and Fili’s lights were still on. It was unnervingly quiet in the house. He had become so accustomed to the bustle of the ward that absolute stillness was quite a shock to him, and he couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable with the silence.

Returning to his room, Thorin propped his pillows up against the headboard, deciding it would be best to distract himself with some reading… and to keep Dain close.

“Dain?” Thorin whispered, and the Labrador dragged himself up into a sitting position, blinking at him sleepily. “Up you come.” He encouraged him up onto the bed by patting the duvet insistently.

Dain leapt up with little effort and after padding around for a few moments, settled himself down next to Thorin’s legs, resting his head on his knee, providing a familiar, reassuring weight. Thorin sat there for a few moments, wondering what it was that was bothering him… There were many things, of course, but he finally put his finger on the fact that the double bed was just so… big. He wasn’t used to sleeping on such a vast mattress, and he felt oddly small in comparison. There was so much empty space.

His heart gave a dull twinge. He wondered what Bilbo was doing right now. It wasn’t midnight yet, so Thorin knew he would still be awake… Would Rosie be sitting with him? Or was he skyping Prim and Drogo? He wasn’t sure of the time zones in New Zealand. He just hoped that he was alright. He had given Rosie a look when she signed him out, communicating his worries to her, and she had discreetly mouthed ‘I’ll sort it’ in reply.

After sitting quietly for another minute or so, Thorin retrieved his copy – Bilbo’s copy – of _Eichmann in Jerusalem_. He was only a dozen or so pages from the end; he could easily finish it tonight and return it to Bilbo before he was discharged… The weight reappeared in his stomach, but before he had time to dwell on it, there was a soft knock at his door.

“Come in,” Thorin said, after a pause: he wasn’t used to this level of privacy.  

Fili appeared, dressed for bed in pale pyjama shorts and an oversized t-shirt. “Hey, just thought I’d see how you were doing… Can I get you anything?”

Thorin brought the book down to rest on his knee. “No… Uh, I’m fine, thank you.”

Fili nodded, and after a moment of silence, she said: “Well, you know where I am if you need me… and I guess I’ll see you in the morning.”

With a parting smile, she made to slip from the room, but Thorin stopped her: “Fili…?”

Fili moved from behind the door, but Thorin couldn’t quite form the words, so he settled for staring at her rather desperately.

“Want some company?” Fili asked, her omniscience once again proving very useful.

Thorin let out a sigh. “Please… Dain’s not very talkative tonight.”

Fili laughed as she came to sit on the bed, her legs automatically folding into Lotus Pose. She reached out and stroked Dain’s head; he let out a long yawn in response, curling himself up further against Thorin’s legs.

“You’re reading _Eichmann in Jerusalem_?” Fili’s surprised eyes were fixed on the book open in her uncle’s lap. “That’s on my summer reading list.”

“Oh… Er, yes,” Thorin answered, picking up the book again. “Bilbo thought it might be, so he leant me his copy.”

The mention of Bilbo definitely changed the atmosphere in the room, giving it an edge which Thorin felt deep in his chest. Fili was studying him now with a hesitance strangely similar to her brother’s.

“Do you want to talk about Bilbo?” came her gentle, but cautious question.

Thorin shifted in the bed. Discussing Bilbo with Kili had filled him with a certain sense of dread, but with Fili things were very different: maybe she’d know what to say to make getting through the night easier. Unable to articulate this fact, he simply nodded.

“Did you guys break up?” Fili prompted, when Thorin didn’t speak again.

 _Break up_. It sounded like such an odd phrase to apply to his and Bilbo’s situation, but he knew Fili was probably trying to interpret his despondent mood that evening and whatever it was her brother had walked in on at the hospital.

“No… We’re going to try and stay together.”

Fili’s expression instantly brightened. “That’s great, Uncle… I’m happy for you.”

A silence fell between them, and when it was obvious Thorin was trying to decide where to steer the conversation, Fili busied herself with scratching Dain’s ears, being patient whilst her uncle figured out his next line.

“You know everything, right?”

Fili looked up. “Possibly,” she replied, with a smirk. “Why?”

“Will… Will it work? Bilbo and I staying together I mean… Do you think it’s going to work?”

Thorin trailed off, simply staring at his niece. He knew it was a horrible question to ask a seventeen-year-old not even out of school… He knew Fili didn’t actually have all the answers, and it was a lot of pressure to put on her… But she always seemed to know just what to say, and her non-judgemental nature, coupled with the safe inbetweenness of her years Thorin had recognised when she first started to visit him, made the question tumble forward.

Fili was staring right back, and he could see the answer slowly being formulated behind her light blue eyes as each word was carefully weighed up.

“Neither of you are going to give up on each other easily,” she said finally. “And if Bilbo tries to, it’ll be because he thinks it’s what’s best for you… Not because it’s what he wants.”

Heart thumping against his ribs, Thorin’s eyes could hardly get any wider. His mind flashed back, once again, to the conversation where Bilbo had tried, admittedly, to ‘break up’ with him… _I’m not going to be a burden to you_. It seemed Fili was right on the money, and Thorin had no idea how she’d figured it out.

“I won’t give up on him,” he agreed quietly: it was a whispered promise to himself, and to Bilbo.

“Good, because I’m going to need his help with my Birmingham application this summer,” Fili grinned, before quickly adding: “Sorry… too soon for jokes?”

“No,” Thorin replied, relieved that his niece had lightened the mood. “I’m sure he’d like to see you.”

“You know, I am totally taking some of the credit for you two getting together.”  Fili was smirking again.

“Oh?”

“Yeah, even though your smooth moves obviously played a big part in it.”

“You’re making fun of me,” Thorin said, accepting Fili’s teasing with a knowing smile.

“I wouldn’t dare!” Fili said, feigning affront. “I mean the first time Bilbo came into your room and you were just sitting there staring at him intensely like this…”

Fili’s posture suddenly became stiff and she turned her head to stare at an imaginary object to her left, eyes going white and wide. It was rather terrifying.

“And then you started shouting out the names of Shakespeare plays… Honestly, Uncle, A-plus pulling technique.”

And then they were both sniggering.

“Was it really that bad?” Thorin asked, with a groan.

“No… It’s just I’m pretty sure Bilbo knew you were looking at him like that.”

“God, really?”

“Oh yeah… Super smooth, Uncle.”

They shared another laugh, and then Thorin’s expression turned pensive. “That all seems like a really long time ago…”

Those first moments of meeting were all trapped, timeless and perfected, in the realm of ‘Before’. Thorin couldn’t quite believe everything that had unfolded since, but he decided it was his turn to lift the mood.

“I need to thank you for teaching me yoga,” he commented. “Bilbo says he fell in love with me the moment he saw me in Downward Facing Dog.”

He didn’t quite get the reaction he was expecting: Fili didn’t laugh at all, she just stared, making his face grow hot.

“Holy shit,” she breathed. “You guys have got to the ‘I love you’ stage?”

“Oh.” Thorin hadn’t realised he had unwittingly given away this piece of information. “Erm… Yes. Is that bad?”

“No! No, of course not,” Fili said, and she did laugh then. “Uncle, that’s great… That’s really, really great.”

Thorin wasn’t sure why he was suddenly feeling bashful, but the colour was definitely rising further in his cheeks. Fili’s expression was full of so much affection and excitement, and it was making Thorin strangely giddy. Seeing things from his niece’s perspective had made the future seem brighter and better. Even if it was only for a few moments, he had stopped defining his and Bilbo’s relationship by the fact that he was being discharged, that they were going to be separated… and had simply let it be defined by the fact that they loved each other.

“Uncle?”

“Hmm?”

“You went a bit glassy-eyed there,” Fili grinned. “You’ve really got it bad… I am definitely taking some of the credit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couldn’t resist writing Thorin and Fili being dorks together – please consider it compensation for that first half which turned out wayyyy angstier than I’d intended!
> 
> The second half of Thorin’s overnight leave, along with the day of his official discharge, is coming soon. In the meantime, please do check out this stunning piece of ‘Obstacles’ fanart drawn by the lovely Demonatic/thehobbitpanda:
> 
> http://thehobbitpanda.tumblr.com/post/116910319976/thehobbitpanda-my-fanart-for-the-lovely-fanfic
> 
> It’s Thorin and Bilbo reading together, guys, and it’s amazing!
> 
> Also, a reminder that this beautiful fanart, by AmbiguouslyGayBagginshield, exists and is wonderful:
> 
> http://majesticbagginshield.tumblr.com/post/110280785799/fanart-for-a-remover-of-obstacles-my-favourite
> 
> Finally, thank you, everyone, for all your support! I am absolutely over the moon with the response to this fic, and it honestly makes the days and weeks so much brighter!


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A very long chapter, in which Thorin says his goodbyes…
> 
> WARNING: Brief mentions of scars inflicted by torture, including cigarette burns. 
> 
> Also, please note that the fic’s rating has now been bumped up to ‘Mature’. The reasons for this can be discovered after the fourth section break, when Bilbo decides Thorin deserves a proper send-off. Yes, that is definitely a euphemism. Enjoy!

Before Thorin even opened his eyes, he could tell something was wrong. The light that hit his lids was jumbled, scattered at strange angles, and the blankets lying over his chest were far too heavy…

Blinking the blurriness from his vision, Thorin stared up at the ceiling with a disconcerted frown, and then he suddenly pulled himself upright, peering around the room in panic as the feelings of disorientation whirred around his head, making his stomach clench. It was that sometimes blissful, sometimes horrible, moment on waking when sleep has erased all memories and knowledge of self; and there is only you and your laboured breathing, alone in an unfamiliar room.

And that was when Dain climbed into Thorin’s lap. The Labrador proceeded to determinedly lick at his face, effectively bringing Thorin back to himself, grounding him in the present and guiding him away from the panic. Thorin let out a long breath as the dog continued to assail him with eager licks.

“Alright, Dain…Hey, hey…” Two large hands secured themselves around Dain’s face and gently pulled him away. “I’m fine… I promise.” Dain’s wet nose snuffled against Thorin’s and then the Labrador licked his cheek again for good measure, before retreating and resting his head against Thorin’s knee.

Trying not to make a sound of disgust, Thorin wiped at his beard: he was going to have to wash his face a few times this morning. Leaning back on his hands, he glanced around the room again, focusing on evening out his breathing. The room wasn’t wrong, it was just… different. The large, blue-sheeted bed, the wooden floors, the black-out blind with the halo of sun around it… Everything was different from what he had known for the past four months. And now Thorin found it was better if he simply admitted to himself that this was all still very strange for him, and it didn’t feel like home, not just yet.

Thorin looked to the doorway to check the time, and with a scrunching in his stomach, realised that there was no clock there. Turning, he found the digital clock radio on his bedside table: 07:09am. He had slept for five hours straight, and if it wasn’t for the brief, blurry flashes of Bilbo in his mind, he wouldn’t have thought he had dreamed at all.

An all-too familiar ache began to build in his chest as he thought of Bilbo. This was the first morning he had woken without Bilbo either in the room next to him, or in the bed next to him. And it was the first of many to come. Bilbo would more than likely be awake by now… Thorin wondered if the younger man had slept at all, and with another twinge, wondered if he was okay.

And now the night was done, this last hurdle leapt over… and today he would meet with Dr. Grey where, together, they would make the final decision about his discharge. This thought made Thorin’s throat feel tight and he reached out and stroked Dain’s head; the Labrador moved up the bed, coming to snuggle in at his side.

“How did you sleep?” Thorin murmured, scratching behind Dain’s ear.

Dain looked up at him with bright brown eyes and panted happily, making Thorin smile. He then returned his gaze to the ceiling, listening to the sounds of the house around him. There was still the unnerving quiet from the previous night: clearly no one was awake yet, and there was no buzz of busyness, no low voices, no distant phones ringing… This new world was so entirely different from the microcosm of the ward. But there were birds singing. Thorin could hear the soft twittering coming from outside his window, and there was something hopeful in it, something that said different didn’t have to be so scary.

After lying in bed for another half hour or so, idly scratching at Dain’s ears whilst the dog laid his head on his chest, Thorin decided it would be best to have a change of scenery. As quietly as possible, he climbed out of bed and crept from his room, out onto the landing. The wood was cool beneath his feet, and he realised with a pang that he had forgotten to pack his slippers… Perhaps they were something that belonged, exclusively, to his time at the hospital. Dain waited dutifully outside the bathroom, and then the two of them descended the stairs together.

Arriving in the kitchen, Thorin went to the backdoor which opened out onto the garden. He twisted the key that been left in the lock and let Dain out for his own bathroom purposes. The Labrador bounded out onto the lawn and did a speedy circuit, sniffing at the dewy grass and inspecting the roots of several trees. Thorin stood in the doorway, undeterred by the early morning chill in the air, and watched Dain with warm eyes. It made him more comfortable, seeing Dain act like a dog for a little while. Dain turned his head to check on Thorin every so often, but continued to suss out the perfect spot for his morning business. Selecting a patch of very beautiful purple flowers, Dain lifted his leg and Thorin snorted. Dis definitely wasn’t a gardener, so he hoped she wouldn’t be too offended.

Seeming very satisfied with himself, Dain trotted back to Thorin, who moved to let him back inside before closing the door again. Thorin inspected the empty kitchen and his eyes fell on the coffee machine, which seemed to be waiting patiently for him in the corner, next to the sink. He approached it with intrigue and found a sheet of paper sellotaped to the top of it. Immediately recognising Fili’s writing, Thorin smiled: his niece had left him numbered instructions for the machine, as if she knew he would be waking early to seek out his caffeine fix.

He lifted a mug from the mug tree next to the machine and set about loading the appropriate pods. Dain slumped down to rest at his feet, letting out a long yawn. It was after he’d steamed the first lot of milk that Thorin heard the stairs creak. He went very still and waited: the step was light, so it wasn’t Kili’s… And then Dis appeared in the kitchen, her dark hair falling over her shoulders, the few silver strands tucked behind her ears.

She pulled her pale blue silk dressing gown around herself and gave her brother a tired smile. “Morning.”

“Sorry… Did I wake you?” Thorin asked, his voice still a little gruff with sleep.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Dis replied, moving into the kitchen. “My body clock’s still not gotten into holiday-mode yet, I’ve been awake for a while.”

“Er… Coffee?” Thorin offered awkwardly, as the machine made some interesting, and rather frightening, sounds in the background.

“I’d love one,” Dis grinned, sitting down at the kitchen’s large wooden table. “Having my morning coffee made for me, be warned: I could get used to this.”

Thorin returned her grin as he pulled the mug from the machine, then peered around the kitchen. “… Spoons?”

“Oh, drawer right in front of you,” Dis replied, before adding: “Sorry… I’m acting like Lady Muck, do you actually need some help?”

Retrieving a teaspoon from the drawer, Thorin stirred the coffee. “I can manage,” he assured her. “Fili left me some idiot-proof instructions.”

Dis flashed him a wry smile as he placed the steaming mug in front of her. “Thanks, love.”

Thorin set about repeating the motions to make his own coffee and the kitchen fell back into silence. He knew Dis was watching him as she sipped her coffee. There was no tension there, but Thorin felt there was a distance he and Dis hadn’t quite closed yet. They were still going through the process of rebuilding their relationship: Thorin had two decades of Dis’ life to catch up on. He knew there were still many conversations they needed to have, but Dis was probably waiting until he settled in before they broached certain subjects… and he did appreciate that.

“Did you sleep okay?” she asked, as Thorin came to sit down next to her.

Dain’s paws clicked on the wood and he moved to lie beneath the table.

“Yeah… slept straight through,” Thorin replied, blowing on his coffee.

The wryness was back in Dis’ expression. “I heard you and Fili giggling last night.”

“Oh… We didn’t keep you up, did we?”

“No, no, I can sleep through anything… I said you two were good for each other.”

Thorin smiled at that: Dis remained the house’s all-knowing matriarch, and this continuity was, in a way, reassuring. The stairs creaked again, followed by several resounding thuds in quick succession. In very contrasting fashions, Fili and Kili entered the kitchen. Kili bounced through the doorway, looking out of breath from his leaping down two flights of stairs, but undeniably excited. Fili was a little worse for wear as she slumped in behind her brother. Her blue eyes were narrowed and clouded with sleep, though she had pinned her hair back into a messy bun in an attempt to make herself look more presentable.

“Good morning, Uncle Thorin!” Kili said happily, as he made his way to the fridge.

“Morning,” Thorin murmured.

Fili rubbed at her eyes with a yawn. “Fuck, it’s early.”

“Mum! Fili said ‘Eff’!” came Kili’s scandalised whine as he poured himself a glass of milk.

“I know, I know. Fili, darling, could we possibly refrain from dropping the F-bomb before 9 am?”

“My bad,” Fili shrugged, taking a seat opposite her uncle. “It is early though.”

“Then why are you two awake?” Dis asked, brow furrowed. “I got attacked when I tried to drag you out of bed before midday last week.”

Kili came to complete their quartet at the table with his glass of milk. “Because…” he said knowledgeably, wiping milk from his top lip. “We were wondering if we started baking now, we could have buns for breakfast?”

“Baking?” Thorin asked, eyes moving from Kili to Fili.

“Oh!” Kili suddenly clapped a hand over his mouth. “It was supposed to be a surprise, I forgot…”

“Don’t worry about it, Kee, you kept quiet for long enough,” Fili said, blue eyes turning to her uncle. “So… We were thinking that you might want to bake something for Bilbo? Now that you’ve got use of a kitchen and all… And I know Bifur and Ori’s relatives bring in the baked goods. I thought it could be our turn?”

Thorin took a moment to process this revelation: there was a clash of sensations as his stomach clenched again, but then a giddiness began to well in his chest as he imagined the look on Bilbo’s face when he returned to the hospital with cakes for him. His vision suddenly clouded over and he coughed to clear his throat.

“That… I-I’d really like that. But… I…” He shifted guiltily on the seat. “Er, can’t cook? At all?”

Dis snorted. “I know, which is why I will under no circumstances let you loose in my kitchen without supervision.”

Fili seemed to be waking up now, and in a flash she had retrieved two glossy, hard-backed recipe books. “I’ve put post-it notes at the good recipes – the ones that look amazing, but are pretty easy to make. You just need to pick the two you think Bilbo will like best.”

Thorin could do nothing but beam at her as he opened the books she pushed across the table.

 

…

 

“Fili… Have you weighed that?”

Fili was dumping half a bag of flour into the mixing bowl in front of her. “It is approximately correct… I have a sixth sense when it comes to baking ingredients.”

“So that’s a ‘no’ then?”

“You just focus on your frosting.”

Thorin chuckled as he turned back to the bowl in front of him. The four of them had dressed for the day and were now hard at work in the kitchen. He and Fili were getting started on their coffee-caramel cupcakes and, on the other side of the kitchen, Dis and Kili were ploughing ahead with their triple chocolate muffins. Kili was using his yellow overlay and reading out instructions to his mother as she cracked eggs into their bowl. Dain had settled on his bed by the back door, but he was keeping a close eye on Thorin, and occasionally sniffing the air hopefully as more ingredients were pulled out.

After making his ineptness in the kitchen clear, Fili had assigned her uncle to frosting duty so she could work on the actual cupcakes, which was an immense relief for Thorin: these cupcakes were for Bilbo, and he didn’t want to screw them up. He decided to work as conscientiously as possible and made sure he carefully weighed out the ingredients needed for the frosting, adding them to the bowl in front of him one by one. He stopped when he came to the last item on the list: instant coffee.

As if reading his mind, Fili plucked a silver tub from the shelf in front of her and handed it to him. “Here,” she smiled.

Thorin accepted the tub and stopped, noting the large red writing across the bottom.

“I, er, made sure we bought decaf,” Fili said softly. “Don’t want you to get in trouble for sneaking contraband into the hospital.”

There had been an attempt at humour, but Thorin hadn’t missed the knowing look in his niece’s blue eyes as she turned back to her bowl. His stomach gave a painful twinge as he thought of the large mug of coffee he had consumed that morning… It wasn’t fair, but proclaiming it so wouldn’t change anything. Thorin studiously spooned the instant coffee into his bowl, ensuring the teaspoons were evenly heaped.

“Well, this mixture doesn’t look half bad,” Fili said cheerily, obviously sensing the encroaching tension and hoping to dissipate it.

“You sound surprised,” Thorin said, managing a smile as he began to stir his own mixture.

“Yeah, well, I had the occasional disaster in Food Tech... Sometimes my stuff didn’t exactly look like the pictures in the recipes.”

“Maybe that’s because you don’t weigh your ingredients properly?”

“Oi,” Fili said, waving her wooden spoon at her uncle. “Don’t doubt my astute baking senses!”

Thorin was sniggering at her indignation when he felt a soft bump at the back of his knees. He turned to find Dain standing before him, holding his lead in his mouth… Ah.

“I… I just need to go and…” He trailed off, looking at Fili.

“No problem,” Fili said, not batting an eyelid. “I’ll babysit your frosting for you.”

Thorin nodded. Glancing across the kitchen, he saw that Dis’ posture had changed, so she clearly knew where he was going, but was aware he didn’t need any attention brought to the fact. Kili was completely oblivious as he continued to read out instructions, explaining the desired appearance of the muffin mixture.

Slipping from the kitchen, Thorin made his way back up to his room. Once inside, he sought out the white paper bag that was folded into the corner of his rucksack. He sat down on the bed, Dain coming to settle himself at his feet. Slowly unfolding and opening the bag, Thorin pulled out the plastic pill bottle and shook his morning medication – consisting of two small tablets - into his hand. He was still amazed by the fact that Faramir had managed to get Dain’s body clock so attuned to Thorin’s schedule that the Labrador was now trained to retrieve his lead when he knew Thorin needed to take his medication.

Thorin decided it would be better not to dwell on the pills in his palm, and so he quickly tipped them into his mouth, dry-swallowing them in one go, and then the task was done… He was quite glad no one but Dain witnessed him automatically opening his mouth after he’d swallowed; he was certain it looked fairly comical, but it was a reflex he’d have to unlearn.

Eyes flitting to the clock radio on his bedside table, Thorin felt his heart do a little flip. Just a few more hours and then he would be with Bilbo again. The thought was actually making him feel giddy, which wasn’t the reaction he’d expected, but he was willing to go with it. And he needed to arrive with cupcakes – there was still frosting to be whisked. He wasn’t sure he was happy leaving his meticulously weighed out ingredients within Fili’s grasp for a moment longer, so he pulled himself up from the bed.

Holding his hand out, he collected the lead from Dain, as Faramir had instructed. “Clever boy,” he grinned, patting Dain’s head approvingly, before producing a handful of treats from his jeans’ pocket.

Dain gobbled them from his palm eagerly, and then the two of them returned downstairs, greeted by Kili’s sing-song proclamation that his muffins were the first batch into the oven.

 

…

 

Dis walked him to the lift, and they embraced briefly before the silver doors slid open. No words were exchanged, but Thorin saw them all in Dis’ meaningful expression. He nodded as he stepped back through the doors, Dain in tow, and then Dis was gone from view. Standing in the lift, rucksack over his shoulder, Dain’s lead in one hand, and two Tupperware boxes balanced in the other, Thorin felt his heart suddenly begin a speedy thumping. _Accelerato_. He was going to go straight to Bilbo’s room before he signed in, and no one was going to stop him. Something close to excitement bubbled up in his stomach.

The lift doors slid open and Thorin stepped out onto the corridor.

“Thorin!”

Poppy appeared from around the corner, and greeted him with a huge smile.

Thorin returned her smile. “Morning.”

“I’ll buzz you through,” Poppy said, tapping her lanyard as they reached the doors that led onto the ward. She leaned down and pressed her ID badge to the panel at the door.

Thorin was ready to march forward past the nurses’ station, but as soon as he was through the doors, he stopped. Bilbo was leaning against the desk, talking to Rosie. When Thorin appeared, he turned an enormous smile on him, and Thorin found himself beaming back. His heart leapt and he realised he was just so happy to see him again – it was a feeling that took over him completely as he rushed towards Bilbo.

Thorin had just enough time to deposit the Tupperware boxes on the desk at his side as Bilbo pulled him into a hug, pressing his face into his chest. It occurred to him then that Bilbo had purposefully positioned himself so he would know the second he stepped back onto the ward, and he wrapped his free arm around Bilbo’s back, holding him closer. The giddy feelings continued to flow, and Thorin thought of what Kili had said the night before: perhaps being apart had made seeing each other again feel more special.

“Hello,” Thorin said quietly, when Bilbo was still clinging to him, for perhaps a second too long.

Bilbo pulled away, smiling up at him. “Hello.”

“Someone’s been baking!”

Thorin turned to see Rosie grinning as she sneaked a peek under the corner of the Tupperware lid.

“Hands off, Rosie.” Thorin pulled the stacked Tupperware boxes away from the nurse and presented them to Bilbo. “For you.”

Bilbo’s eyes widened as he peered through the clear plastic of the boxes. “You… baked these for me?”

“Coffee-caramel cupcakes and triple chocolate muffins,” Thorin said, a hint of pride in his voice. He was rather chuffed that his and Fili’s cupcakes had turned out looking fairly close to the recipe book’s pictures, despite his niece’s experimental methods.

“Thorin, I…” Bilbo actually seemed speechless, and then a huge smile appeared. “Thank you… They look lovely.”

A definite blush was creeping into Thorin’s cheeks as Bilbo peeled away the lid of the first box, and then Dr. Grey appeared behind Bilbo, Faramir at his side.

“A very good morning to you, Thorin,” the doctor said, his blue eyes glittering.

Thorin nodded, his stomach twisting: he knew what was coming next.

“Faramir is here to pick up Dain, and then you and I need to have a little chat.”

Dr. Grey had warned Thorin that they would need to have their one-hour intensive session, in which the crucial decision about his discharge would be made, as soon as he returned to the ward… which was why Thorin had been hell-bent on going straight to Bilbo’s room first.

Thorin reached down to scratch at Dain’s ears before handing the lead over to Faramir.

“How did he do?” the trainer asked, stroking Dain’s head as the Labrador looked up at him with excited pants.

“Good as gold,” Thorin smiled.

A heavy tension had descended over the group at the nurses’ station, and Thorin could feel everything inside him begin to knot itself.

“Excellent, well done, Dain.” Dr. Grey beamed down at Dain, before turning back to Thorin. “Right, Thorin, how about we go and put the kettle on in my office?”

Thorin lowered his head, and then his eyes fell on Bilbo. The younger man’s expression was unmistakably sad, but he still managed a brave smile for him. With his heart crumbling within his ribs, Thorin let the doctor lead him away down the corridor.

 

…

 

Thorin appeared in Bilbo’s room without a word. As before, Bilbo was waiting for him, and the decision could easily be read in Thorin’s tortured expression. Bilbo moved forward to meet him, and they stood together, fingers brushing as they leaned towards each other.

“You’re being discharged tomorrow.”

“Yes.”

Bilbo exhaled a shuddering breath, screwing up his eyes.

“What do you need?” Thorin murmured, rubbing his thumb over Bilbo’s.

“Stay with me today?” Bilbo replied, his voice painfully small. “And tonight?”

Thorin closed his eyes, his heart bruising the inside of his chest. “Anything you want.”

 

…

 

Bilbo made another hum of approval as Thorin gently sucked on his bottom lip. He pushed their bodies together, his hand trailing down Thorin’s back. In the dead hours of the morning, the ward was quiet, and it was easy to imagine there was nobody else in the world. And with the weight of all that the dawn would bring, there was that overwhelming feeling of climax, of an ending, as if this really was their last night on earth.

Thorin shuddered as Bilbo’s fingers trailed over the bare skin just above his hip where his t-shirt had ridden up. Taking this as an unspoken cue, he pulled away, his nose brushing against Bilbo’s.

“Okay?” Bilbo's voice sounded beautifully wrecked.

Running his thumb over Bilbo’s forearm, Thorin murmured: “Would you like me to take my top off?”

He had thought it was a decent question: from experience, Bilbo seemed to like it when he was shirtless, and at this point he was going to do absolutely anything to make him happy. Surely the lingering of Bilbo’s fingertips at his skin was a request. He had also thought the question quite a sexy one; he was, therefore, understandably put out when Bilbo started sniggering.

“Well, if you’re offering?”

Thorin stilled, heat sneaking up his neck, worried he had killed the mood.

“Oh, Thorin, don’t pout,” Bilbo sighed, his voice full of genuine warmth. “I’m not laughing at you… and yes, I would very much like to remove your top.”

Coughing awkwardly, Thorin pulled himself into a sitting position, folding his legs under him. Bilbo mirrored his movements so they were now facing each other on the bed. Thorin had never shared many laughs with his lovers whilst they were in the middle of something, in fact there had been very little verbal communication, humorous or otherwise, and this all seemed very strange… but he found he quite liked it.

Reaching down to the hem of his t-shirt, Thorin stopped when Bilbo’s hands closed over his. “May I?” he asked, his voice low, the glee gone from it, and his eyes had gone dark.

Thorin nodded, his hands falling away, and he lifted his arms as Bilbo carefully pulled his pyjama top up and over his head. Lowering his arms again, Thorin shifted on the spot, studying Bilbo expectantly, the heat only rising in his cheeks. Bilbo didn’t say a word, only slowly reached out and ran his fingers over Thorin’s shoulders, down his chest, raking through the dark hair. Bilbo’s touch was feather-light and it made Thorin’s skin tingle in a very appealing way.

Without conscious thought, Thorin found his eyes slipping from Bilbo’s, studying the red and blue embroidered crest on his Birmingham hoodie – he hadn’t questioned it when Bilbo had worn it to bed – and his gaze was thoughtful, rather than wanting, but still Bilbo seemed to interpret it as the latter.

“I can’t boast the same view, I’m afraid,” he said softly, avoiding Thorin’s eyes as his fingers fell from his chest.

“Bilbo –” Thorin began, ready to protest.

“I don’t mean my lack of your frankly ridiculous abs.” Bilbo spoke over him, and his voice was brittle, seeming to hold so much behind it.

“Okay.”

“I… I, er, I have scars… A lot of scars.”

Thorin froze, his chest twinging and tight, as he replied: “And you really think that would matter to me?”

Bilbo’s eyes widened as the realisation sank in. “Thorin…” he breathed, voice full of remorse. “I didn’t mean… I’m sorry…”

“It’s alright.” The ache in Thorin’s chest eased again. “And y-you don’t have to… It’s fine, if you’re not comfortable…”

There was a small line in Bilbo’s brow, and Thorin could see from the twist of his mouth that he was considering something, assessing possible objectives and outcomes. After several long moments, Bilbo reached up to the zipper of his hoodie. “Well, in the name of progress, I suppose…”

Thorin’s heart jolted at this unexpected turn. Regaining himself, he reached out with his own trembling fingers, closing them around Bilbo’s. “May I?”

His voice was far more uncertain than Bilbo’s had been, but still the younger man’s hands slipped into his lap.

“I’d like that.”

Thorin found himself feeling light-headed. Being allowed to undress Bilbo was sending shivers of excitement shooting throughout his body, making breathing rather tricky as his heart thundered on.

Bilbo sat perfectly still as Thorin unzipped the hoodie, and it fell open, revealing the white pyjama top. Thorin was watching Bilbo’s face closely, checking for any signs of distress, but Bilbo’s eyes had only darkened, and he could hear how his breathing had changed. Thorin slid his hands beneath the hoodie and slipped it from Bilbo’s shoulders, pulling it down over his arms. Undressing each other was an undeniably sensual experience, very intimate, and completely unchartered territory, and Thorin’s mouth felt dry.

Bilbo wordlessly helped Thorin slip his hands from the sleeves, and then Thorin waited, watching Bilbo for his reaction as his hands settled at the bottom of the long-sleeved pyjama top. “Still okay?”

In response, Bilbo started to raise his arms, and so Thorin began to lift. Bilbo closed his eyes and his jaw was set as his face disappeared from view, his bare torso now revealed. Removing the t-shirt, Thorin tried not to twist it in his hands as he schooled his expression into one of neutrality. There were long, thin scars littering the entirety of Bilbo’s body. They ran, often in parallel lines, sometimes in criss-cross patterns, over his ribs, his chest that was smattered with light brown hair, the small pouch of his stomach, his shoulders and his upper arms. Their design was too perfect, and with an ache in his stomach, Thorin realised these wounds had been purposefully inflicted with great precision. He also noted several circles, slightly darker than Bilbo’s skin, scattered across his stomach: they were undoubtedly cigarette burns.

The anger came first: a cold rage that had Thorin wanting to hunt down whoever had done this to Bilbo and beat them to a bloodied pulp before ripping them apart. But he knew his fury wouldn’t help Bilbo now, and he didn’t want him to interpret this reaction as disgust. There was a tragic irony lurking on the edge of the scene: Thorin clearly remembered his first visit to the dayroom when he had thought Bilbo unblemished, unmarked by his ordeal, unlike the group of them gathered there. He had been wrong. However, one revelation of that day still remained: Bilbo was one of the beautiful people of the world, and nothing would ever make Thorin stop thinking that.

“I… I know it looks awful…” Bilbo's face was almost white.

Thorin realised he had been silent for far too long, and Bilbo had hunched forward, one arm now across his chest in a defensive posture.

“No,” Thorin said gently, reaching for Bilbo’s hand and guiding his arm away. The other hand cupped his cheek. “No, it doesn’t.”

Thorin leaned in, feeling the need for them to be as close as possible again, and Bilbo only studied him with genuine confusion.

“You’re beautiful, Bilbo,” Thorin whispered, their noses brushing together. It was something he had never said aloud, and now he wanted to say it again and again and again, to the man who had never stared at his own scar, had never asked about it, or defined him by it… only brushed his fingertips over it as he kissed him.

Thorin had expected Bilbo to protest, to push him away and declare his disbelief, but instead Bilbo pressed his lips against Thorin’s, hands moving up his arms, over his bare shoulders. Their mouths pressed firmly together, Bilbo moved to lie back down on the bed, and used his grip on Thorin’s shoulders to pull him down with him.

Eagerly following, Thorin pushed his knee into the bed between Bilbo’s legs, feeling their stomachs press against each other. They had never been this unclothed before, and Thorin was relishing the heat of Bilbo’s bare skin against his as he continued to kiss him, a little more insistently this time. Perhaps he should have felt uncomfortable and exposed, but he was far too focused on Bilbo, on their bodies moving together, and on covering Bilbo’s skin with his own.

Bilbo’s hand was at the back of Thorin’s neck, helping press their mouths together, although he allowed Thorin to shift to the side slightly so he could run his free hand over Bilbo’s shoulder. The movement of Thorin’s fingertips was controlled and careful: with his senses heightened, he felt it was easier to judge Bilbo’s reactions, to know what was and wasn’t okay.

The younger man hummed into Thorin’s mouth as fingers tip-toed over his chest, down his abdomen, and then the hand slid back up Bilbo’s torso… and his breathing hitched. Thorin’s hand stopped. His fingers had just run over the pale brown nub of Bilbo’s nipple, and judging by the sharp intake of breath, they had had quite a positive reaction.

Mouth stilling against Bilbo’s, Thorin’s thumb crept back down his chest. He ran it lightly over the bud and a definite moan sounded in Bilbo’s throat. Breaking away, Thorin pressed their foreheads together.

“Is… is this alright?” he asked, sounding breathless. He and Bilbo had spoken about his issues in this area, and Thorin didn’t want to push him too far… although he couldn’t deny just how enthusiastically his body was reacting to the thought of being allowed to give Bilbo pleasure.

“Yes…” came Bilbo’s equally breathless reply, and his eyes were darker than ever.

Still leaning their foreheads together, Thorin held off kissing Bilbo again – as much as it pained him – so he would be able to easily vocalise it if he changed his mind. Feeling Bilbo’s heavy breaths brushing against his cheek, Thorin slowly began to rub Bilbo’s nipple with his thumb. Bilbo’s breath caught again, and then he let out another low moan, his fingers moving into Thorin’s hair.

“That… that feels lovely,” he murmured, his eyes fluttering closed.

The nub was hardening beneath Thorin’s fingertip as he continued his gentle strokes, and he found his own body reacting in a similar fashion, spurred on by Bilbo’s laboured breaths. Adjusting his position, Thorin pressed a kiss to the side of Bilbo’s mouth, and then to his jaw, all the while continuing to tease, careful to keep his touch light.

Thorin continued his trail of kisses, lips brushing against Bilbo’s neck, lingering over a raised white scar at his shoulder. He paused in between each kiss, giving Bilbo plenty of time to protest, and when he pressed his mouth into Bilbo’s chest, just above his other nipple, he knew from the trembling of Bilbo’s stomach, that he had made his next intention clear, but still he waited for permission, not daring to stray any further until it was given.

“Yes,” Bilbo gasped, eyes still firmly shut. “Please…”

Trying not to smile, Thorin closed his mouth around the brown bud, making Bilbo hiss in a breath as he arched his back, pushing his chest towards him. With great care, Thorin gently lapped at the nipple, and Bilbo sank back into the bed, his stomach muscles still shuddering. Pressing his lips around it, Thorin began to suck… and suddenly Bilbo’s whole body went rigid beneath him.

“Th-Thorin! Stop! Stop!”

Thorin jerked away from Bilbo, sitting up in the bed, his heart in his throat. “I-I’m so sorry,” he choked out. “Did I hurt you?” He glanced wildly towards the door, certain that the nurses would come bursting in and drag him away.

Bilbo’s hands were covering his sweat-soaked forehead and his chest was heaving as he stared up at the ceiling. “No… I just… Too much… it was too much…”

Starting to reach for Bilbo, Thorin quickly drew his hands away, his face burning. “I should have stopped…” he said, regret colouring his voice.

“What?” Bilbo turned to Thorin, obviously seeing the contrition in his eyes. “No… No, this isn’t your fault… Come here.”

Bilbo took Thorin’s hand in his own and urged him to lie back down again. Thorin moved very reluctantly, and he still kept a wary distance on the bed.

“I… I knew I was pushing my limits,” Bilbo said carefully, soothingly stroking the back of Thorin’s hand. “I just wanted to… to see if I could…” He trailed off, and then added: “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“But… you’re okay?” Thorin asked, swallowing heavily, his whole body still feeling tense.

“I am,” Bilbo said, with a small smile. “But would you mind if I put my top back on?”

“No… O-of course not.”

Thorin watched as Bilbo sat up, going to retrieve his long-sleeved t-shirt from the bottom of the bed. He carefully pulled it on over his head and then lay back down, reaching for Thorin’s hand again.

“Would you, er, like me to put my shirt back on as well?” Thorin asked awkwardly, hoping Bilbo understood he was trying to make him more comfortable. If Bilbo had panicked because he had got himself too worked up, perhaps Thorin’s bare torso wasn’t very helpful…

“No, you’re fine,” Bilbo grinned, lightly tapping Thorin’s abdomen. “I just need a few moments.”

Thorin nodded, and settled himself back down against the pillows, lying on his back as Bilbo’s mirror image, their hands still joined in the middle of the bed. Studying the ceiling, Thorin waited for his breathing to slow, listening to Bilbo’s own breaths in the dark.

“I think I might take Gandalf up on his offer,” Bilbo said finally, sounding like his old self again.

“Offer?” Thorin turned to look at Bilbo.

“Of seeing a sex therapist.”

“Oh… right.” Thorin hated to admit that, after what had just happened, he was still rather terrible at talking about sex… maybe he needed to join Bilbo in a session.

“It’s an endless source of amusement for me that the hospital’s resident sex therapist is called Dr. Cox,” Bilbo said, grinning across at Thorin. “But I think it might be time to pay her a visit.”

“Would you… like me to come with you?” Thorin asked, trying to fight against the heat rising in his cheeks.

“I think I’ll need to do the first few sessions on my own,” Bilbo replied. “But I’ll let you know when she breaks out the puppets and the diagrams… and the porn.” He flashed Thorin a wicked smile.

“Puppets?” Thorin quirked an eyebrow.

Bilbo rolled onto his side, clearly suppressing a laugh. “Of course it would be the puppets that has you interested.”

“But seriously…” Thorin murmured. “She has puppets that you use to…?”

Bilbo edged closer to Thorin on the bed, aligning his body with Thorin’s, and a hand snaked over his bare chest. His voice was soft and low when he next spoke: “Thorin, use the puppet to show me where you’d like to be touched.”

There was dark humour in Bilbo’s voice, and the glint in his eyes made Thorin’s throat go dry again.

“Bilbo…” he breathed out. His body was reacting.

Bilbo kissed his shoulder, and it was an uncanny echo of the last time they had been this intimate.

“Where would you like me to touch you?” Bilbo asked again, his fingernails raking over Thorin’s chest.

“I… You don’t have to…” Thorin said, his voice sounding choked as his skin began to tingle again.

“But you’ve been very good to me,” Bilbo continued, and his tongue traced the curve of Thorin’s shoulder. “Tell me… What do you want?”

Thorin’s breaths were coming quicker now. “I… I don’t know…” he replied, heart rioting against his ribs. He was terrible at talking in general, he didn’t know how he was supposed to be any good at talking dirty, the way Bilbo clearly wanted him to… the way Bilbo was clearly very good at.

“Okay.” Bilbo kissed Thorin’s neck, then pulled himself up so their lips were level. “Just a simple question… Do you want my hand? … Or my mouth?”

Thorin made a strangled noise at the back of his throat. The very thought of Bilbo’s mouth on him… It was enough to send him spiralling over the edge of the precipice without Bilbo even touching him.

“M-mouth,” Thorin gasped out. “But… nurses…?”

He was sure he wasn’t going to be able to form another coherent sentence that night.

“We’re not due a check for another forty-five minutes,” Bilbo replied, his thumb stroking Thorin’s jaw. “Plus it’s your last night in the hospital… and nurses are very tactful people.”

Thorin nodded. Bilbo was implying that the entire nursing staff knew exactly what was going on in his room at the moment, but he didn’t really want to think about that… Bilbo was kissing his neck again, and Thorin found he suddenly didn’t care.

Bilbo manoeuvred himself so that he was leaning over Thorin, making it easier to kiss the hollow of his neck. “You have to tell me if you want me to stop,” Bilbo said seriously, peering up at him.

“I… I will,” Thorin promised, although he highly doubted he would need to.

Bilbo smiled, and then he was slowly moving himself down Thorin’s body, pressing kisses to each of his nipples, to the dip in his chest that was rising and falling rather rapidly, to his shuddering stomach. As lips found his hipbone, Thorin slid his hand into Bilbo’s hair. And Bilbo stopped. He reached up and gently pulled Thorin’s hand away, kissing his knuckles.

“I’m not the biggest fan of my hair being pulled,” Bilbo said quietly. “Is that okay?”

“Wha -? Oh… Yeah… Sorry,” Thorin replied, his voice thick with obvious arousal.

“Quite alright.” Bilbo twined his fingers with Thorin’s, a mischievous smile back in place as he dipped his head to kiss the trail of hair on his stomach.

Bilbo brought their joined hands to lie against Thorin’s hip and then, with great care, slipped his other hand beneath the waistband of the pyjamas, fingers wrapping around Thorin’s length. Thorin gasped out at the touch, tilting his head back as Bilbo freed him, and he was already hard in his hand as Bilbo gave him a few quick strokes for good measure.

Feeling hot breaths ghosting against his skin, Thorin let out a long groan as Bilbo took him into his mouth. At this rate, there was no way he would be lasting very long. And there was the coil tightening in his gut, and he could feel his fingers already hanging over the precipice… Only this time there was little panic, just pure, unadulterated pleasure as Bilbo began to suck him.

“G-God, Bilbo…” Thorin stuttered out, his hips automatically jerking up.

Bilbo squeezed his hand in response, and went about his task even more mercilessly, making Thorin let out another groan. His breath caught in his throat and Bilbo sped up his pace, mixing the strokes of his tongue, and Thorin was powerless to resist. Of course Bilbo would be damn good at this. The coil was winding tighter, his body was trembling, hips jerking again, and Bilbo used his free hand to push him down onto the bed as he arched his back.

What followed were minutes of an erasing bliss, where Thorin felt everything fall away: there was only him and Bilbo and this bed. Eventually he dared to lift his head, and he found Bilbo’s green-grey eyes watching him in the dark, and that was it…

“I… I’m going to –”

Thorin let go, violently, with everything he had. His mind drew an absolute blank, his whole body shaking beneath Bilbo’s hands. Several long moments seemed to pass without Thorin able to register anything at all, and he stared dazedly up at the ceiling, barely able to breathe, and definitely unable to speak. And then he slowly settled back into his body, the room slipping into focus around him.

Bilbo was back at his side, and it was only then that he realised he had been tucked back into his pyjamas. A hand came to rest on his shuddering chest, and Bilbo stroked circles into it, soothing him, bringing him back to himself.

“Was that… alright?” Bilbo asked softly, and there was definitely a hint of self-doubt in his tone.

Thorin gave a surprised laugh. He had never been so rocked by a release, but still Bilbo was clearly sceptical. “Not bad,” Thorin grinned, still breathless. “You could’ve tried harder.”

Bilbo lightly smacked Thorin’s chest, knowing he was being teased. “Yes, okay… It’s been a while. I just wanted to make sure.”

Thorin found Bilbo’s hand and squeezed it. “Thank you.”

Bilbo’s expression suddenly grew solemn. “Something to remember me by.”

And with that, the spell was broken. Reality burst into the room, and it was like a pail of icy water being thrown over them. Whatever they may have shared, whatever pleasure they had just experienced, it didn’t change the fact that Thorin was leaving, and with a sinking feeling, he wondered if he and Bilbo would ever get the chance to be this intimate again.

“Bilbo…” Thorin’s heart was aching as Bilbo turned away from him.

The younger man rolled onto his side, but he took Thorin’s hand, pulling his arm around him, indicating, at least, that he wasn’t shutting him out completely. Thorin was quiet as he adjusted his position against Bilbo’s back, keeping his arm around him, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of his neck.

They were quiet for a long time, and then, in the darkness, came Thorin’s murmured “I love you”. He knew it still wouldn’t change anything, but it was true, and he wondered if Bilbo needed to hear it again.

Bilbo didn’t reply, and Thorin thought he might have fallen asleep. Lifting his head, he saw that Bilbo’s eyes were open as he stared towards the window… and there were tears lingering at their corners, as well as sliding down his cheeks. Thorin’s heart crumpled. Bilbo squeezed his hand then, and Thorin knew it meant: _I love you too, I just can’t say it right now._

The quiet returned, and Thorin was feeling the edges of sleep begin to wrap around him, when Bilbo spoke: “If it could only be like this always – always summer.”

Thorin’s chest tightened. “That’s from _Brideshead Revisited_.”

Bilbo turned towards him, his expression surprised, questioning.

“Dr. Grey quoted it in one of my sessions,” Thorin explained, not daring to add the obvious: that they had been discussing Bilbo at the time.

Bilbo’s head returned to the pillow and it went quiet again.

“What happens to Sebastian and Charles in the end?” Thorin asked, resting his chin on Bilbo’s shoulder. “You never told me.”

“Sebastian runs off to Morocco to become an alcoholic monk… Charles jumps into bed with Sebastian’s sister, but it doesn’t work out… And they both end up alone.”

Thorin tightened his arm around Bilbo’s waist, trying to fight against the pain in his chest. “We’ll think up a better ending for them,” he said, voice on the verge of cracking.

Bilbo leaned back into Thorin. “One where they live happily ever after?”

“To the end of their days,” Thorin whispered.

They didn’t speak again that night, and they both stayed awake, watching light filter through the blinds as the tomorrow neither of them wanted slowly arrived.

 

…

 

“Rosie, you promised.”

“I know, I know… I’m sorry!” The nurse accepted a tissue from Radagast and hastily dabbed at her eyes.

“Oh, don’t, you’re going to set me off!” Poppy said, putting a comforting hand on Rosie’s shoulder.

The leaving party had assembled at the nurses’ station as Thorin signed himself out for the final time. Rosie, Poppy, Beorn, and Radagast were all present, along with Dr. Grey, and Bifur and Ori had also come along to see him off.

The only person missing was Bilbo.

The morning had been difficult. Bilbo had hidden himself away as Thorin packed up his room. All his clothes were placed into a large suitcase, along with his personal belongings: he had peeled all the photographs, all of Kili’s notes, from his walls, along with the Queen posters which he had rolled up and secured with elastic bands. He had stripped his room until it had ceased to be his, as if the white space had gone back in time to before Thorin arrived there. He had left only one thing unpacked, and it was waiting for Bilbo when he returned to the room, an hour before Thorin was due to leave.

_“Thorin…”_

_“I want you to have it.”_

_“But it was a gift… Fili bought it for you.”_

_“Fili and I have talked it over, and she agrees that you should have it.”_

_“You… You still might need him.”_

_“Fili has the same statue on her windowsill… He can look after both of us.”_

_“… You’re sure?”_

_“Please… I’d feel better if you kept him here with you.”_

_“Okay… Thank you… I, er, I brought you something as well…”_

_“… Your copy of_ Othello _?”_

_“Your copy now.”_

_“Thank you.”_

_“Thorin… I-I can’t watch you leave today… I’m sorry…”_

“Thorin, love?”

Thorin found himself jolted back to the present as Dis’ hand touched his elbow. He turned to see his family offering him understanding smiles. Fili and Kili were standing behind their mother, Fili with the suitcase and Kili holding Dain’s lead whilst his uncle said his goodbyes.

Having hugged Rosie and Poppy, allowed Radagast and Beorn to envelop him in a crushing embrace, and shaken Dr. Grey’s hand very firmly, Thorin moved now to Ori and Bifur, who had been patiently waiting their turn.

“G-G-Good luck… Th-Thorin,” Ori said, quite bashfully, as he offered his hand to shake.

Thorin smiled down at it, and then carefully pulled the teenager into a hug. When he and Ori first met, all those weeks ago in the day room, Thorin hadn’t even been able to shake his hand, and now he wrapped an arm around the young soldier’s back.

“Thank you, Ori.”

“W-we’ll t-take… c-c-care of him… f-for you,” Ori said, in barely more than a whisper, and Thorin’s heart jolted painfully.

He nodded as he pulled away, feeling his eyes begin to sting as he turned to Bifur. Thorin made the sign for ‘thank you’ and the older soldier returned a few animated signs which he interpreted as reminding him he was always welcome to play cards with them. Bifur then dragged Thorin down into a hug that had the strength of Beorn’s.

Straightening up, Thorin had to wipe his eyes. Radagast clocked him and the packet of tissues was about to appear under his nose when –

“Thorin?”

Everyone turned in unison to find Bilbo standing in the doorway of his room. The look in his eyes was enough to send Thorin striding forward to him, his heart leaping, and he had barely opened his mouth when Bilbo was grabbing his plaid shirt collar and pulling him behind his door.

The kiss was a fierce one, and it said everything they’d been unable to say that night. Bilbo backed into the wall and pulled Thorin to him, one hand going to his hair, the other to his chest. Thorin pressed his mouth against Bilbo’s, kissing him with everything he had left, and he closed his eyes against the tears.

An age seemed to pass, but finally Bilbo pulled away, their heavy breaths filling the space between them.

“I love you too,” Bilbo said, his chest heaving. “I… I couldn’t let you go today without telling you…”

Thorin opened his eyes, his vision blurred, but still he could see Bilbo… whose eyes were full of their own tears. Their foreheads stayed pressed together as Thorin’s hands moved up Bilbo’s arms.

“And… And I’m really going to m-miss you…” Bilbo’s voice cracked as he looked up at him.

Thorin let out a shuddering breath, trying desperately to keep himself together, for both of their sake’s. “I’m going to miss you too… So much,” he replied, exhaling again, screwing up his eyes. “Thank you… for… for everything… I couldn’t have… If-If I’d never met you, I would have…”

Stumbling over his words at the worst time, Thorin gritted his teeth, looking away.

“Thorin,” Bilbo whispered. “It’s been my absolute pleasure.”

His hands reached up to Thorin’s face, turning it back towards him, and his thumbs carefully wiped the tears from his cheeks.

“There,” Bilbo said, his voice more even now. “Can’t have you leaving in such a sorry state.”

Thorin struggled to smile, and then leaned in to Bilbo again. _I don’t want to leave, I don’t want to leave, I don’t want to leave…_

“Thorin,” Bilbo murmured, slowly pulling Thorin away from him. “It’s alright… You’re ready to go now.”

Shoulders sinking, Thorin simply stared back, knowing there was little left to say. Bilbo rose onto his toes and pressed a soft, chaste kiss to his lips and then stepped away.

Thorin knew he was being dismissed, and so he said quietly: “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“See you tomorrow.”

With one final glance, Thorin stepped back through the doorway, finding Dis, Fili, and Kili waiting for him.

“Here you go, Uncle Thorin,” Kili said brightly, handing him Dain’s lead.

“Thanks, mate.”

Dis gave him a sympathetic, but discreet smile. “Right, shall we get off, then?”

Kili wordlessly slipped his hand into Thorin’s and Fili drew up by his other side. They followed Dis as she led the way out of the ward, cheery calls of ‘good bye’ and ‘good luck’ sounding behind them. Thorin drew in a deep breath, preparing himself for his first whole day back in the real world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> … Sorry?


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Online shopping, bright yellow speedos, and that song from ‘Ghost’. 
> 
> Warning: The opening section of this chapter features a panic attack.

Thorin slowly unzipped the suitcase and opened it up on his bed. He had been tactfully left alone whilst he unpacked: Dis was pottering about in the kitchen downstairs and Fili and Kili had retreated to their rooms to give him some privacy. With Dain curled up on the square of sunlight on the carpet in front of the window, Thorin began to reassemble his life in the blue room.

As he began a perfunctory sort through his clothes, he realised the quiet was haunting him again. His ears searched out every sound in the house, sifting through the silence, seeking out a ringing phone, a low conversation, a clatter of fingers on a keyboard… but he already knew the search was futile. This emptiness in the air was heavy and cloying, and Thorin couldn’t even begin to wrap his head around this paradox presented by his new home.

Unsettling feelings moored themselves in his stomach. Thorin knew the sickness was sprouting from the fact that he wasn’t unpacking for an overnight stay. This was it now. Real life. The permanence of it was beyond terrifying. He had been cut loose from the hospital, left to stagger, exposed and unprotected, into this silent world without a nurses’ station, without doctors, without Bilbo…

The folded t-shirt in Thorin’s hands was shaking. Dropping it back into his suitcase, he stared down at his trembling fingers and suddenly his throat was closing up. There was a weight, lodged beneath his chin, crushing his windpipe and he couldn’t breathe… he couldn’t breathe… _Fuck_ … _FUCK_.

Thorin twisted himself towards Dain before sliding down onto the floor. Legs splayed out in front of him, he hunched over to one side, wheezing. The Labrador was at his side in an instant, urgently licking his shivering hands, trying to guide him away from the panic. Thorin’s chest was heaving as he dug his fingers into the thick, chocolate brown fur at Dain’s neck, attempting to anchor himself, as a battle waged in his head, clashing thoughts sending spikes of pain across his temples… _It’s a panic attack… It’s just a panic attack… It will pass… I can – Fucking hell! I can’t even be left alone for five minutes… fucking useless, stupid, pathetic… Need someone… Need help…_

At that moment, the door swung open and Fili appeared: no doubt she had heard him hyperventilating from across the hallway. Thorin’s stomach tightened like a fist as he choked on a breath. He was sure that he was about to see fear flash across his niece’s face… that she was going to shout for her mother… or rush off and ring the hospital. But then Fili swiftly dropped to her knees in front of him, her blue eyes searching, but not critical.

“I… lasted… five… minutes…” Thorin gasped out, the self-pity evident in his miserable expression.

“Uncle, you need to sit up straight for me,” Fili replied calmly, ignoring his comment. Her tone was gentle but with an unexpected air of authority.

Shoulders still hunched, Thorin shook his head, feeling his eyes begin to burn. “… Can’t.” The single word scraped against his throat.

“Yes, you can,” Fili returned, unfazed. “Now pull yourself up.”

Thorin saw a hint of Dis in her eyes, and his recalcitrant response died in his throat… he was not one to disobey orders. Feeling his clenched stomach protest at the movement, Thorin pushed up off the floor and hauled himself into an awkward sitting position, leaning against his bed.

“Good,” Fili smiled, maintaining her perturbing nonchalance. “But your back needs to be straighter.”

Drawing in a shaky breath, Thorin aligned his back with the cool wood of the bed, fighting desperately against the instincts to crush his knees into his chest.

“Okay… Now get into Lotus Pose.” Fili moved herself back a few inches and folded her legs into the yoga position. She then looked to her uncle, patiently waiting for him to do the same.  

Thorin’s confusion made him bristle and his mouth twisted down into a frustrated grimace. He knew Fili swore by yoga in all things, but this wasn’t going to help when he could barely breathe… He wondered why she had chosen now to play traitor and start being harsh with him.

“Fili…” Thorin’s voice was hoarse, but the annoyance was still obvious. He reached for Dain, who was snuggled into his right leg, as if to demonstrate that this was what loyalty looked like. “I… I’m having… a panic attack…”

“And I’m asking you to get into Lotus Pose,” came Fili’s simple retort.

A distinct growl sounding in his throat, Thorin crossed his legs in front of him, glaring at his niece. “There.”

“That’s not Lotus Pose,” Fili commented placidly. “That’s what you were doing three months ago when you were shit at yoga… The soles of your feet need to be pointing towards the ceiling.”

Letting out a huff, Thorin reached out and dragged his feet into the correct position, first his left, and then his right.

“Your toes are curling too much. They don’t need to be pointing to the ceiling.”

Thorin flattened his toes against his knees. “Are you happy now?” he asked, a definite edge in his voice.

Suddenly, Fili was grinning. “Yep… So, how are we feeling?”

Thorin started. His breathing had evened out without him even realising. Although his chest was still aching and his throat felt dry and raw, he was breathing almost normally again… The attack had been and gone in a matter of minutes.

Studying Fili again, Thorin’s disconcertion slowly abated, and he inhaled deeply. “You… you did that on purpose,” he said quietly.

“And it worked pretty well, didn’t it?” Fili’s grin only widened.

“You’re worse than Dr. Grey,” Thorin muttered, one hand rubbing across his beard, the other scratching behind Dain’s ears. Fili had tricked him, but she was right, it had worked. He drew in another breath, closing his eyes.

“I’m really sorry, Uncle, but that bewildered look on your face…” Her voice took on a whine: “‘Why is Fili being mean to me? Why is she making me do yoga?’”

Thorin managed a smile then. He had grown used to Fili teasing him, and he liked it. It meant she wasn’t afraid… and she wasn’t pitying him.

“Though I did think you might murder me at one point,” Fili added, smirking. “Jesus, Mum wasn’t joking about your homicidal glare… which apparently I’ve inherited. Quite pleased about that.”

Smile faltering, Thorin’s gaze dropped into his lap. “Are you going to call the hospital?” he asked sullenly, resigned to the fact that Fili was about to become part of his welfare phone tree.

“No.”

Thorin looked up, raising an eyebrow. “What?”

“Uncle… You just had your ‘Fuck Fuck Shit’ moment,” Fili explained gently. “It was going to happen at some point in the next couple of days… You can talk about it with Dr. Grey if you want, but I’m not going to make that call.”

After a very long pause, in which he slowly processed his niece’s words, Thorin murmured: “‘Fuck Fuck Shit’ moment?”

“I think other people call it an existential crisis,” Fili said drily. “When you suddenly feel totally overwhelmed by everything and you have no clue what you’re doing with your life… Like when you haven’t slept for three days and you have an AS History exam where you need a decent grade to keep your life on track and then the paper has fucking horrible questions on it that you can’t answer… ‘Fuck Fuck Shit’ moment.”

Thorin could still remember the day Fili had turned up in his room after her History exam, face pale from crying, looking completely defeated. They had lain side by side on his bed and listened to music together. He hoped that, despite everything, he had been able to offer her some support, just as she had supported him countless times.

Reminding himself that Fili really was on his side, Thorin relaxed his posture as he exhaled. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” Fili shifted back onto her knees. “Right… Do you want to have another go at unpacking?”

Feeling a flash of spikes across his stomach, Thorin glanced behind him at his suitcase, but then slowly inhaled. Now was not a time to be proud or stubborn, not when Fili had just single-handedly talked him through an attack. “Will you help me?” he asked quietly.

“Sure,” Fili smiled, clambering to her feet. She moved around to the other side of the bed.

After slipping Dain a few treats from his jeans’ pocket, Thorin carefully pulled himself up, finding Fili waiting for him, one hand casually on her hip as she inspected the contents of his suitcase.

“Okay, so is there a specific way you want your stuff organising?”

Thorin furrowed his brow, peering around his room. There had been very little forethought when he had unzipped the case… He supposed that was a product of avoidance and not wanting to acknowledge this rather drastic change of scenery.

“I… er, I don’t really mind?” he offered, very unhelpfully.

“Well, you’re talking to someone who used to leave the majority of their clothes on the floor until they grew their own ecosystems or became conscious and crawled away, so…”

“ _Used to_?”

“Yeah, Mum wasn’t a big fan of my floordrobe… She, er, threatened to burn any clothes she found on my floor at one point and you kind of know she would’ve followed through with it.”

Thorin couldn’t help but grin at that. “So no clothes on the floor then.”

“How about we hang your shirts and jeans in the cupboard and everything else goes in the chest of drawers?”

“Okay.”

The two of them set to work; Fili opened the cupboard at the other side of the bed and Thorin heard the clacking of plastic coat hangers being swept to one side. He collected the first pile of plain t-shirts and went over to the chest of drawers, depositing them in the second drawer down… the same as when he was at the hospital, but he decided not to think any further on that.

Turning back to the suitcase, he found Fili holding Bilbo’s copy of _Othello_. She must have reached for the shirt he had wrapped it in… It was a sentimental gesture maybe – Bilbo, surely, would have enjoyed the symbolism – but the edition was almost fifty-years old, and he hadn’t wanted it to get damaged in the move.

Fili looked up at him, and more words than were written in the play itself were contained in her quiet, knowing expression. “Bookshelf?” she asked softly, gesturing to the shelf above his bed.

Thorin nodded, trying to swallow the lump in his throat, trying not to think about the fact that he already missed Bilbo and wouldn’t be seeing him again until tomorrow afternoon. He reached for Dain as he went to collect more t-shirts for the drawer.

They continued in companionable silence, Fili making fast work of the clothes that needed to be put away in the cupboard and moving on to setting aside his things that needed to go to the bathroom and making a pile of his personal effects, photographs and Kili’s homework on his bedside table. She then joined her uncle in storing away his socks, underwear, and pyjamas. To complete the ritual of unpacking, Thorin zipped his suitcase back up and slid it under his bed, frowning as he straightened up.  

“Okay?” Fili asked gently.

“I just realised my sister bought me ninety-percent of the clothes I own,” Thorin replied, avoiding Fili’s eye as he perched on the edge of the duvet.

Fili slowly moved to sit next to him, her wary posture indicating she knew they were now entering potentially dangerous territory.

“Mum tried to ring your landlord again when we knew you were being discharged, but he wasn’t having any of it,” Fili explained. “Also, if you thought she couldn’t get any scarier, hearing her yelling in German is absolutely fucking terrifying.”

Thorin turned to Fili, one eyebrow arched. “Your mum does know Peter speaks English, doesn’t she?”

“Oh yeah, but I think she was trying to avoid the ‘idiot English tourist’ vibe… She still couldn’t get him to understand that we weren’t expecting him to pay for the shipping costs of getting your stuff over here.”

Thorin knew there had been some issues with the dingy Berlin flat that had been his part-time home for the past seven years. His landlord, Peter Brecht, was a rotund, ill-tempered man in his late sixties who tolerated Thorin as a tenant only because he didn’t have to see him for months and months on end. Whilst on leave, Thorin always laid low, and rarely bothered Peter… but now it seemed Dis had been making up for seven years of quiet.

In a dim and distant part of his mind, Thorin registered that he may never return to Berlin, but his thoughts quickly fled from that dark corner and everything else that could possibly be hidden there.

“There isn’t much in my flat anyway,” Thorin replied, and it was true. Sentiment had been something that had come to him at the hospital: there were very few things in Berlin that held any value for him. “I’ll tell her to let it alone.”

An unanticipated sadness fell between them. He wasn’t a materialistic person, and he never set much store by possessions, but now that he found himself in a new home without… things, things that were truly his, things that he had chosen for himself, things that he had bought: it unsettled him in a way he never expected. He was sitting in his room with a borrowed book, gifted photographs, and clothes picked up by Dis. He had tried to have the ‘money talk’ with his sister several times, but she had always shut him down, saying they would talk about it later, when he was settled in… He told her that he didn’t want charity, that he would pay his way in her house, but still she had shrugged it off and refused to discuss it any further with him.

“I think we need to do some online shopping.”

Thorin’s eyebrow couldn’t get much higher as he regarded Fili, sure he had misheard her. “What?”

“Okay, don’t move, I’m just going to get my laptop.”

“Fili…”

Before Thorin could stop her, Fili disappeared from his room and returned in lightning-quick time carrying her laptop, already open. She settled at the top of the bed and waited for Thorin to take a seat next to her. He patted the bed and Dain jumped up, coming to lie in front of him with his head on his knee. Placing the laptop between them, and with a few speedy taps across the keys, Fili opened up the Next website.

“You… want me to shop for clothes? On here?” Thorin asked slowly, eyes skimming the glossy homepage.

“We don’t have to, and if you’d rather shop at Debenhams or something, we can check out their online store… Also, Mum sorted stuff out with your bank when you were first admitted and you’re, er, pretty loaded, so we could do House of Frazer, splash out a bit?”

“No… No, this is fine,” Thorin said, shifting awkwardly. He would never describe himself as ‘pretty loaded’, but he knew what Fili meant: he’d lost both his parents and had lived a very frugal life in Germany. He was, therefore, financially, fairly well-off. But, equally, he didn’t know how to explain just how little thought he’d put into his civilian clothing over the past two decades.  “I… Um, what should we look at first?”

A grin spread across Fili’s face. “Right…”

What followed was half an hour of slowly filling his online basket that was equal parts traumatising and strangely comforting. Fili’s wry humour was helpful, even if it did make him uncomfortable at points, and even arguing over his refusal to purchase a leather jacket had been a wonderful distraction from all the feelings that had triggered his first panic attack.

“Okay… Anything else you’re after?” Fili asked, clicking on the checked shirt they had picked out and adding it to their basket.

Thorin coughed to clear his throat. There was something that had kept cropping up as they flicked from model to model, and he had been hoping he could be casual about asking.

“I… Can… Can we look at hats, please?” he asked quietly, praying Fili wouldn’t need an accompanying explanation.

His journeys to and from the hospital had been fairly uneventful, but Thorin knew he would soon be expected to enter public spaces that weren’t the ward… and his stomach withered at the thought of strangers turning to stare at his scar.

Luckily, his niece was very quick on the uptake. “Of course… Let’s open the accessories page.” Fili clicked on a link, a grin appearing. “But I'm going to veto fedoras and trilbies… I am not going out in public with you if you wear one.”

“Noted,” Thorin smiled, eyes scanning the list down the side of the webpage.

“So… what are we looking for?” Fili prompted, turning to study him.

“Beanie hats.”

“Cool, I like it… Right, here we go… Beanies… What colour are you thinking?”

“Grey?”

Fili’s finger paused on the touchpad. “You’ve thought about this… I’m sensing there’s a story here?”

Heat was slowly rising in Thorin’s cheeks. “Oh… when Bilbo and I went for… for coffee, he gave me a grey beanie hat to wear… He, er, he thought I looked good in it.”

Fili’s grin was now of the shit-eating variety, but he knew she meant well. “Excellent.” She clicked on a beanie hat to add it to their basket. “Grey beanie it is! Now… Get your card ready, Uncle, because we’re about to check out.”

 

…

 

As it turned out, Next offered a very reliable next-day delivery service, and so Thorin arrived at Ered Luin the following afternoon sporting an outfit that was one-hundred-percent paid for with his own money… including the grey beanie hat he had pulled down over his hair. Standing in the lift with Dain, he had an uncanny feeling of déjà vu: the giddiness had returned to his stomach, and he wasn’t going to deny how excited he was for the look on Bilbo’s face when he saw the beanie hat.

He was sure Bilbo would be waiting for him at the nurses’ station like last time, and so he was understandably surprised when he was buzzed through onto the ward and the younger man was nowhere to be seen. As he approached the nurses’ station, Rosie clocked him and moved to the desk so he could sign in. There was something stiff in the way she moved and her usually bright expression was closed off and pale. Thorin had been expecting some sort of sarky comment about his clothes, but instead all he got was a tired smile. And suddenly all his giddy feelings were dissolved in acidic dread.  

"How are you doing, Thorin?" Rosie asked quietly, and the nurse seemed so reserved, so unlike herself. "How was yesterday?" 

“Oh, er, good... I'm all settled in now." Thorin's hand tightened around Dain’s lead as his heart began knocking at his ribs. His eyes flitted to Bilbo’s room. “Rosie... Is everything alright?”

“He’s not having a very good day," Rosie replied, clearly fighting to keep her expression neutral. "Anything he says to you, Thorin, just make sure you take it with a pinch of salt.”

“Okay,” Thorin murmured, his stomach twisting. “But… he hasn’t had an episode?” He had spoken to Dr. Grey on the phone that morning in lieu of an actual session – so that his time at the hospital could be spent exclusively with Bilbo – and when he asked after the younger man, the doctor had assured him that Bilbo would be waiting for him… he hadn’t been wrong, but he had clearly left out a few vital bits of information.

Rosie shook her head as she slipped his visitors badge into its plastic wallet. “No… He’s just finding the adjustment a bit tricky. He’s sitting behind his door at the moment.”

There was a sudden swell of guilt in Thorin’s gut, and it only exacerbated the feelings that everything around him was wrong. It should have been a source of comfort for him, being back on the ward, but he was struck by the fact that he no longer belonged here. Glancing over at his room, he saw it looking bare and empty… not his room anymore, surely soon to be someone else’s. Exhaling slowly, Thorin took the badge from Rosie and went to clip it on his dark blue jacket.

“Thorin… I, er, I wouldn’t,” Rosie said gently. “Have you got a pocket you can put it in?”

“Oh…” Thorin’s face fell. He knew the nurse was intimating that Bilbo wouldn’t react well to this visual symbol of their separation. “I’ll just…” He slipped it into his jacket pocket.

Rosie nodded. Sensing the nurse needed him to leave the station, Thorin made to move away towards Bilbo’s room.

“Thorin?” Rosie said, and he turned. The nurse had managed a familiar grin. “I like the hat.”

Returning her smile, Thorin did move away then and cautiously approached Bilbo’s room. After hesitating for a moment, he slipped inside and found Bilbo sitting behind the door. He wasn’t reading like Thorin had anticipated… and he had clearly been doing nothing more than staring at the opposite wall. Thorin’s heart sped up its pace.

Bilbo blinked at him, his eyes grey and teary. “Hello.”

“Hello,” Thorin replied, trying to keep his voice even. He wanted nothing more than to drag Bilbo into his arms and never let go, but he knew he needed to be careful today. “Can I join you?”

Bilbo nodded, and Thorin settled himself against the wall at his side, as he had done so many times before, only this time it felt as if there was another wall slowly building between them. Thorin wasn't sure how he had pictured his first visit to the hospital after he was discharged, but he had never imagined this. Dain, obviously aware of Bilbo’s distress, began ardently licking at his hands and lurched forward to lick at his nose.

“Yeah, alright, Dain, give him some space,” Thorin sighed, wrapping his arm around the Labrador’s front, steering him away, guiding him to sit down at his other side.

Turning back to Bilbo, Thorin wasn’t sure of his next move, and so he waited. Bilbo stared at him for a few long moments, and then leaned forward, burying his head in Thorin’s chest. As painful as the gesture was, some relief came with it, as Thorin had been genuinely worried Bilbo would push him away.

“Okay, okay, shhh…” Thorin soothed, wrapping an arm around Bilbo’s back, pulling him closer. His other hand went to Bilbo’s cheek, his thumb gently stroking it.

Bilbo made no sound, there were no sobs or shuddering breaths, he just went very still as his hand closed tightly around Thorin’s jacket. Thorin wanted to tell him how much he’d missed him, how much he loved him, but he thought it would only make things worse, so he simply held Bilbo, kissing his forehead and then resting his chin on his hair.

Thorin wasn’t sure how much time had passed when he felt Bilbo shift against his chest. “You went shopping,” he whispered.

“Online shopping, Fili’s idea,” Thorin replied, he then peered at Bilbo a little bashfully. “Do… Do you like the clothes?”

Bilbo grinned in response, and it made his eyes look green again. “You look very handsome in this jacket.” He tugged on the jacket’s collar. “And…” He reached up to run a finger over the beanie. “I think this suits you.”

Thorin knew Bilbo was purposefully echoing what he had told him on their first date, and it made his heart execute several complicated manoeuvres. Bilbo straightened up and leaned back against the wall though his hand slipped down to take Thorin’s. They were quiet for a few moments and Thorin found his gaze drifting over to the windowsill… where Ganesh was waiting for him. The statue was sitting at the centre of the sill, dwarfing the rather disastrous origami crane at its side. It probably enjoyed lauding its superiority over the man-made creation, and Thorin narrowed his eyes at the god. He wasn’t doing a very good job at the moment.

“Did Rosie tell you?”

Eyes snapping away from the windowsill, Thorin turned to Bilbo. “She said you weren’t having a very good day,” he answered softly.

Bilbo’s gaze fell into his lap. “Ori came to see me this morning… And, well, it was obvious he was checking up on me, trying to… to mother me… I didn’t react very well.”

Thorin rubbed his thumb over Bilbo’s, his expression one of understanding. He knew Bilbo was very protective of Ori, and was used to looking out for him… Having their roles reversed and his situation laid out so starkly for him couldn’t have been easy.

“I got angry with him,” Bilbo continued, and his face had gone very pale. “But when Rosie intervened… I… I really went for her. I used things about her life she didn’t even realise I’d figured out… A dirty intelligence trick.”

Rosie’s demeanour at the nurses’ station suddenly made a lot more sense. Bilbo had clearly hurt her, and judging from the tears reappearing in Bilbo’s eyes, he knew it.

“In three years I’ve never spoken to Rosie like that,” Bilbo said, his voice barely more than a whisper, and then it began to crack as he spoke again: “I-I don’t like b-being this person… This isn’t who I am.”

“Bilbo,” Thorin said gently, pulling the younger man to him. “You just got upset… Everyone lashes out at the people they care about when they’re upset.”

Bilbo made a noncommittal noise and Thorin tried not to think about his hand in all of this, about the fact that he was the cause of Bilbo’s lashing out.

“The number of times I’ve taken things out on Dis,” he murmured. “And I even had a go at you at one point.”

A smile flickered on Bilbo’s lips then, and Thorin knew he was remembering their first argument when he had snapped, sending Bilbo marching out of his room.

“Rosie and Ori will forgive you,” Thorin said firmly, squeezing Bilbo’s arm. “Have you tried to apologise to them yet?”

Bilbo shook his head. “They won’t want to hear it.”

“You know that’s not true,” Thorin replied carefully. “The next time Rosie does your check, you just need to tell her you’re sorry… She’s not going to hold this against you.”

Bilbo didn’t look convinced. “Okay.”

“Why don’t we go and see Ori now?”

“He’s in the dayroom. I don’t want to make a scene.”

Bilbo’s expression was set, and Thorin knew he wasn’t going to make this easy for him… So he’d have to employ some more persuasive methods of coercion.

“Okay, I didn’t want to have to use this,” he said seriously. “But I have in my possession an incredibly embarrassing picture of me from 1994 which I’ve managed to smuggle out of my sister’s evil clutches… If you agree to go and see Ori in the dayroom, it’s yours.”

Bilbo’s lips were beginning to curl. “I need more information.”

“I’m only wearing one item of clothing.”

A Cheshire Cat grin lit up Bilbo’s face. “Now you’re talking… Alright: if you hand over the photo, we can go and find Ori.”

Mirroring Bilbo’s grin, Thorin reached into his jacket’s inside pocket and produced a folded photograph. “I can’t believe I’m actually showing you this,” he muttered, as he presented it to Bilbo.

Bilbo carefully opened up the crinkled photo, and then, as expected, the laughter started. “Oh my _God_ , Thorin!”

“Family holiday in Majorca, just before I started my training.” Thorin knew his cheeks were scarlet, but the bright look in Bilbo’s eyes and the snickering that was making his shoulders shake were worth it.

“I may never… stop laughing,” Bilbo commented, between wheezes.

Thorin shuffled closer to him, unsure why he was trying to get another look at the picture: maybe to confirm that it was unutterably awful. And yes, it was still horrific. The snapshot was of Thorin as a pale and gangly eighteen-year-old in a pair of bright yellow speedos. He was standing by the side of the pool holding a ninety-nine cone with a goofy grin on his face and he looked like an absolute knobhead.

“Oh my God,” Bilbo said again, still staring down at the photo. “You look so proud of yourself, with your fluorescent budgie smugglers and your ice cream… Tell Dis I send my regards.”

“I will,” Thorin sighed. “I was thinking about bringing you an embarrassing photo every time I visit; steal them away from Dis one by one, so she can’t, I don’t know, make a hideous collage or something.”

“And you really think they’re safer with me?” Bilbo asked slyly, grinning up at him.

Thorin chuckled. “I am now starting to doubt that.”

Their noses brushed past each other and then they were kissing. Bilbo’s free hand – the one not holding the offensive photograph – snaked up to grab the collar of Thorin’s jacket, and Thorin, in turn, cupped Bilbo’s face. It was a happy, laughing kiss… One that had come about so naturally and Thorin was completely taken in by it. He therefore let out a little grunt of protest when Bilbo pulled away.

“Thank you for the photo,” Bilbo whispered. “Maybe you could… _recreate_ it sometime, break out the yellow speedos again?”

“Not on your life,” Thorin replied. “Well… I’d take _a lot_ of persuading.”

Bilbo returned a wicked smirk. “Oh, I have my ways.”

Thorin kissed Bilbo’s nose, making it wrinkle in a frankly adorable way. A silence fell between them, and Bilbo knew what Thorin was waiting for: he had kept up his end of the deal.

“What if he doesn’t want to see me?”

“He will,” Thorin replied quietly. “Ori really looks up to you… He’ll have been suffering as much as you have, thinking you’re angry with him.”

Bilbo sighed, and then made a move to get up. “When did you get so wise?” he asked, smiling softly.

Thorin pulled himself from the floor, grabbing Dain’s lead. “I think you’re rubbing off on me.”

 

The dayroom was hosting one of its ‘Crafternoon’ sessions where visitors were invited to join patients in the arts and crafts activities put on by the hospital. Therefore, it wasn’t a surprise that Thorin and Bilbo arrived to find Bifur and Ori were joined by their respective relatives at the craft table towards the back of the room. Thorin tried not to dwell on the fact that he was joining Bilbo as his visitor and not as a fellow patient.

He and Bilbo were clocked as soon as they stepped through the doors, and Ori instantly lowered his head, hiding his face from them and hunching his shoulders in an almost defensive posture… and Nori got to his feet. It was obviously the middle brother’s visiting day, and after previously witnessing Dori’s strength, Thorin wasn’t sure whether or not it was the lesser of two evils currently approaching them. 

Bilbo stilled as Nori made his way over, and Thorin inched closer to his side. The supervising doctors were aware of an impending exchange and had moved themselves, ready to intervene.

“Nori…” Bilbo began, when the older Ri brother, in all his undercut and tattooed glory, came to a stop in front of them, barring them from going any further.

“Look, mate,” Nori spoke over Bilbo, folding his inked forearms across his chest. “The way you spoke to my little brother this morning just wasn’t on, alright? He’s got enough shit to deal with without his friends turning against him.”

“I know,” Bilbo replied carefully, not shrinking under Nori’s black gaze. “And I’m only here to apologise to Ori: I don’t want any trouble.”

Nori’s scrutiny shifted from Bilbo to Thorin, then slowly back again. After another tense moment, he conceded: “Alright. But if you upset him again –”

“Then we’ll leave,” Thorin put in, staring down at Nori. His expression clearly communicated that if he even thought about laying a finger on Bilbo he wouldn’t live to tell the tale.

“Good,” Nori said simply, his hands slipping down to his sides, and then he turned and headed back to his table.

Thorin and Bilbo followed him until they found themselves faced with Bifur, his cousins, Bofur and Bombur, Nori, and Ori himself as a silent, wary jury. They sat down opposite them, Dain slumping down next to Thorin’s chair, and the tension could be felt radiating from all present. Thorin knew this must be difficult for Bilbo, especially as he had built such good relationships with Bifur and Ori’s relatives as well as Bifur and Ori themselves. Now he was alone on trial against all of them. Ori still wouldn’t look Bilbo in the eye, and Nori had a reassuring hand on his younger brother’s shoulder.

“Say what you have to say, then,” Nori prompted, eyeing Bilbo critically.

Thorin brushed Bilbo’s fingers under the table, trying to reassure him, to let him know he was on his side.

“Ori,” Bilbo said quietly, and the teenager glanced up at him, though he continued to fidget with his mittens. “I am so sorry about what happened this morning. I said some incredibly hurtful things to you, inexcusable things, and I know that I’ve really upset you.”

No one spoke as Bilbo drew in a slow breath, clearly trying to keep himself calm.

“I wasn’t feeling very well this morning, and I took that out on you, which I shouldn’t have done. You were only trying to help me, and I understand that now. You’re a true friend, Ori, and I really am very sorry I reacted the way I did. I just hope that you can forgive me.”

Bilbo’s voice was very controlled as he spoke and Thorin was sure that he had been rehearsing parts of this speech all day, but it didn’t detract from his obvious pain at the situation and feelings of remorse. The whole table waited, barely daring to draw a breath, and then Ori spoke.

“A-apology… a-a-accepted,” he said quietly, offering Bilbo a small smile. “W-will y-you… and Th-Thorin stay… for C-C-Crafternoon?”

Thorin sensed that Ori and Bilbo had more to say to each other, but this was enough for now. Everyone seemed to simultaneously release a breath and then, one by one, smiles appeared as Bilbo and Thorin were properly welcomed to the table. Bilbo began an exchange in Sign Language with Bifur and his cousins.

“Th-Thorin, c-could I s-say… hello to D-Dain?” Ori asked shyly, turning his attention onto Thorin.

“Of course,” Thorin replied warmly.

Ori had developed a habit of appearing whenever Thorin was meeting Faramir before or after his leaves so that he could cuddle Dain, and the Labrador’s attentions seemed to really help the young soldier. Thorin unclipped Dain’s lead and nudged him under the table.

“Go and see Ori,” Thorin urged. “Go see Ori!”

Panting excitedly and his tail beginning a furious wagging, Dain padded under the table to Ori, who moved his chair back to greet him. The teenager’s whole face lit up as he coddled the dog and Dain affectionately licked at Ori’s hands.

“So… what are you going to do with your clay?”

Thorin’s eyes moved to Nori. “Clay?”

“That lump of grey stuff in front of you,” Nori said, nodding to the mat before Thorin.

Thorin stared down in mild horror as the reality of the situation registered with him. He had been so focused on Bilbo, he hadn’t realised he had just unwittingly signed himself up to yet another craft activity at which he was going to spectacularly fail .

“Oh… I… er, I have no idea…”

Thorin looked around the table. Bifur and his cousins were collaborating on a beautifully and intricately constructed model of a dragon, using the plastic carving utensils to add the scaly detail onto its back and tail. Ori, although currently distracted by Dain, was creating an equally graceful statue of a dancer. Nori had flattened his clay into a tablet and was carving an ornate Celtic design into it.

“Why don’t you make me a nice vase for my room?” Bilbo put in from next to him.

Thorin stared at him. “You are joking?”

“Just hollow out the middle, shape the sides, it’ll look lovely,” Bofur offered from the other end of the table, beaming at Thorin, and Bilbo nodded in agreement.

Turning back to his lump of clay, Thorin tentatively reached out and pushed his fingers into the cool surface. “Okay,” he said, resigned to his fate as the creator of yet another crap piece of art. “But Bilbo if you even try to do the _Ghost_ thing, I will murder you.”

Bilbo grinned across at him, but didn’t comment as he turned to his own clay. Everyone’s attentions returned to their own sculptures and Thorin started to work at the grey lump in front of him, hollowing out the middle as Bofur had instructed. After several studious minutes, a sufficient crater had been formed in the clay. Brow furrowed in concentration, Thorin began moulding the sides, trying to tell himself that his ‘vase’ didn’t in the least bit resemble a Yorkshire pudding.

And then it started. A subtle humming coming from Bilbo, and then Bofur joined in, followed by Nori. The bastards were humming ‘Unchained Melody’. Thorin tried to ignore them and focus on smoothing out the sides of his vase, but then Bombur, Bifur, and Ori joined in the humming, all still nonchalantly carrying on with their work.

Thorin gave in. “Alright, alright, don’t think any of you are exempt from the murdering!”

Everyone at the table burst out laughing, making Thorin’s cheeks colour, but then Bilbo’s hand brushed his under the table. He glanced across at him and they shared a soft smile… one of reassurance, of love, and it reminded Thorin that not everything in his world was changing, and there would still be constants to hold him in place when he felt like he was drifting away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this chapter was a little less traumatic than the last one, guys! 
> 
> Right, the next month is going to be very hectic for me work-wise, so I can’t guarantee that I’m going to be able to keep up my regular posting schedule: the next update may take a little longer to arrive, but I promise you this fic is not being abandoned!
> 
> In the meantime, if you have any prompts for what you want Thorin to get up to now he’s out in the big wide world, I’d love to hear them. I can’t guarantee I’ll be able to write them all, but it’d be great to get some ideas for the next few chapters.
> 
> Thank you so much for your support, everyone: it continues to mean the absolute world to me! :)


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I’m baaacccckkk! The past five weeks have been pretty miserable, so even I couldn’t manage any angst this time – therefore please enjoy this chapter of unadulterated fluff in which a university application is tackled and a trip to Sainsbury’s is made.

“Just you watch: we’ll wait another twenty minutes and then three will turn up at once!”

Thorin tightened his fingers around Dain’s lead, his other hand flexing inside his jacket pocket. He managed a weak smile, giving his niece an apologetic side-ways glance.

Fili didn’t seem fazed by his silence. “Don’t worry: I’ve got a whole repertoire of bus-related humour,” she grinned, wriggling to adjust the rucksack on her shoulder.

They had been standing at the bus stop at the bottom of their road for about fifteen minutes, waiting for the city-centre bus that would take them to the hospital.  For the past week, Dis had been driving Thorin to and from Ered Luin for visiting hours and his appointments, but this first journey on public transport was part of Dr. Grey’s masterplan to enable Thorin to regain his independence.

One blow that had been dealt by Thorin’s situation was that he wasn’t legally allowed to drive until he had gone six months without a black-out. With his driver’s license refused on medical grounds, he was therefore eligible for a disability card that would allow him free travel on all Leeds buses. Thorin had grumbled endlessly about it during his period of discharge planning; the idea of a bus pass made him feel like an old man, and as he already had a scar stamped across the side of his head and a dog in a high-vis jacket, he really didn’t want another symbol of his illness to carry around with him.

However, the scar was currently hidden beneath his grey beanie and Dain had quickly become such an integral part of his life that he no longer saw the Labrador as a hindrance. Equally, one second of discomfort when flashing a pass at a bus driver who saw hundreds of commuters every day paled in comparison to everything else he had experienced these past few months.

“Ah, here we go!”

The Number 3 rounded the corner and Fili moved forward, extending her hand. She then turned to her uncle, her blue eyes searching: “Okay?”

Thorin nodded, looping the lead over his wrist so he could scratch Dain’s ears. Dain responded with a few licks of reassurance as the bus pulled into the stop, the double doors opening with a tired groan. Fili stepped up first and Thorin followed, feeling his heart begin an insistent knocking against his ribs. He drew in a deep breath.

Fili handed over the change for her own ticket and then carefully stepped aside, her bright smile ushering Thorin forward.

“Uh,” Thorin coughed, producing the photo card from his pocket and showing it to the driver, who was a white-haired man in his late fifties with sympathetic brown eyes.

“Cheers, mate,” the driver replied, with a nod and smile, before turning back towards the road.

The doors sliding shut behind them, Thorin and Fili moved further down the bus, taking the two opposing priority seats so Dain could easily fit between Thorin’s knees. The bus was fairly empty, as was to be expected at that time on a Wednesday afternoon, but Thorin knew he and Fili had been watched with some interest by the other passengers. Faramir had told him that Dain was always going to provoke interest when out in public, but that he would therefore draw most of the attention away from Thorin himself.

Dain rested his head on Thorin’s knee, and Thorin continued to stroke his ears, feeling his heart slowly even out to a steadier rhythm. Avoiding the eyes of his fellow commuters, Thorin turned to look out of the window, watching the leafy suburbs slowly transform into shops and busier streets as they headed into town.

His gaze was drawn away when he heard Fili unzip her rucksack, which she now had on her lap. “Just checking I’ve remembered everything,” she explained when she saw her uncle looking. “You know I could kill someone with Birmingham’s prospectus, it’s that heavy.”

Thorin did smile at that. “But you’ve got your personal statement?” he asked quietly.

“You mean the appalling first draft? Yeah, that’s tucked away here,” Fili replied, tapping a plastic folder.

Fili was hoping to submit her Birmingham application as soon as admissions opened in September, and so she was seeking out Bilbo’s help with writing her personal statement. Thorin had been very cautious when he pitched the idea to the younger man a couple of days ago, but Bilbo had been beside himself with excitement at the prospect, and Thorin suspected that he was just eager to help someone with something… now that Thorin wasn’t there.

“I’ve also got your embarrassing photo du jour,” Fili added, smirking.

Thorin grimaced. “I can’t believe you talked me into this one.”

“What? You in full football kit with a Brian May perm, what’s not to love?”

“I suppose it’s not as bad as the one of me off my face on the dancefloor at your mum’s wedding,” Thorin conceded, trying not to think about the fact that that one was so bad Bilbo had thought it warranted a look over by the entire nursing staff.

The bus had come to a halt, stuck in a queue of traffic, and Thorin turned to look out of the window again, eyes drawn upwards by the cloudless blue of the July sky… He was suddenly reminded of the moment he and Bilbo had stumbled out onto the pavement outside the hospital in full scrubs. The sky had been the same dome of blemish-less blue as the two of them sat and sipped their coffee in the ivy-covered terrace of Esgaroth Coffee House.

“Doggy.”

Jolted from his thoughts by the softest voice, Thorin turned to find a very small child with a head of red curls standing in the aisle at his side. She was staring intently at Dain, her green eyes round and wide with wonder.

“Oh, Emily!” A harassed-looking young mother with her pram parked in the bay opposite reached for her daughter. She looked to Thorin: “I’m so sorry.”

Thorin’s heart was beating painfully fast again and his mouth struggled to form the words: “Oh… No, er… It’s… it’s fine.”

Fili had abandoned her rucksack and was leaning forward, preparing to intervene. Emily wriggled away from her mother’s grasp, just as the baby in the pram let out a wail.

“She… She c-can say hello,” Thorin continued, feeling a little more confident, even though he was sure his cheeks were colouring. “He’s, er, he’s good… with kids.”

Although Kili was hardly as young as the tiny girl in front of him, Thorin had witnessed Dain’s easy way of dealing with the excessive cuddling and poking and prodding when Kili was being excitable: he was sure Dain would be pleased with the attention. After a pause the mother smiled and released Emily’s hand.

Thorin shuffled back in his seat and let Dain peer around his knee to inspect this new friend. “Would you like to stroke him?” Thorin asked Emily, trying to make his voice as gentle as possible.

Emily was, in fact, even shorter than Dain, but she didn’t seem scared as she returned a shy nod. After a few moments of hesitation, she slowly reached out a hand which had five impossibly small fingers. It was less of a stroke and more a tap on Dain’s nose, but Dain responded by licking at Emily’s fingers with an eager pant. Emily quickly pulled her hand away with a shrill giggle, her whole face lighting up. She waited another few moments and then tapped Dain’s nose again: Dain, in turn, licked her hand, seeming to enjoy this game.

There were several more similar exchanges and then the bus suddenly lurched forward as the traffic began moving again. Emily staggered with a shriek, but Thorin’s hand shot out to her back to steady her. In return, she grinned up at him and giggled.

“Okay, Emily, come back and sit next to Mummy,” the woman put in, holding out her hand for her daughter again, her gaze then moved to Thorin and she smiled. “Thank you.”

Thorin returned her smile. He was still smiling to himself when he caught Fili grinning at him. Her expression clearly said: ‘Look at you, being all sociable!’ Thorin didn’t comment, he only grinned back at her, before choosing to look out of the window again.

 

…

 

“All okay?” Thorin asked quietly, as he and Fili signed in at the nurses’ station.

Bilbo knew Fili was visiting with him today, but Thorin still didn’t think it would be fair to either of them to go ahead if Bilbo was having a bad day. Fili hadn’t seemed bothered by this prospect and simply said she would go into town and have a coffee whilst Thorin visited and then return to accompany him home.

But, luckily, Radagast returned a knowing smile, a twinkle in his dark eyes. “Oh yes, he’s really looking forward to seeing you, Fili… He wouldn’t stop talking about it this morning.”

Thorin’s chest was suddenly flooded with warmth and, for once, he returned Radagast’s smile as the nurse handed over his visitor’s badge. Fili led the way to Bilbo’s room, and they found the younger man sitting up in bed waiting for them. His over-bed table was pulled up in front of him and already piled with books.

“Hello!” Bilbo said cheerily, as they came to either side of his bed.

“Hi, Bilbo,” Fili replied, sounding equally cheery as she shrugged her rucksack off into a chair.

Bilbo looked to Thorin and they exchanged fond smiles, with Bilbo mouthing ‘alright?’ and Thorin returning a nod. He discreetly reached for Bilbo’s hand and squeezed it. He was sure that Fili would hardly object if they embraced and kissed, but Thorin wasn’t sure how Bilbo would feel about it… and, for some reason, he felt very awkward expressing his affection in front of his niece. But, then again, feeling very awkward was Thorin’s semi-permanent state.

“So, how’s your summer going?” Bilbo asked Fili, as she took a seat at his side.

“Not too bad,” Fili smiled. “I’m enjoying the lie-ins… Perfecting the art of doing nothing.”

“And when is Results Day?”

Fili shifted on her seat. “August 14th … I’m kind of dreading it.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll be absolutely fine,” Bilbo replied warmly, glancing at Thorin. “Now, I believe you’ve got something for me to look at?”

“Yeah… I’ve got the first draft of my personal statement.” Fili unzipped her rucksack and pulled a typed sheet of A4 from its folder. Thorin noted that she didn’t immediately hand it to Bilbo. “So, this is like a really, really rough draft… and I know it’s crap… but, er, I hope you can help me do something with it.”

Thorin could hear the nervousness in Fili’s voice and it suddenly struck him that she was intimidated by Bilbo… intimidated by his intelligence. Thorin supposed he had been a little daunted by Bilbo’s intellect at first, but now he was simply in awe of it.

“I’m sure we’ve got plenty to work with,” Bilbo reassured Fili, when she finally let him take the statement. “But just so I know… what level of criticism would you like: minor pointers or a thorough unpicking?”

“Whatever will get me into Birmingham,” Fili answered honestly. “But please just don’t write ‘boring’ on it.”

Thorin remembered the scathing red scribbles of Fili’s History teacher and how furious his niece had been as she thrust her spoiled essay towards him… He knew Bilbo would never dream of doing the same.

“Of course not,” Bilbo agreed. “Do you possibly have a pencil or a highlighter?”

“Sure.” Fili pulled her pencil case from her rucksack and opened it for Bilbo.

“Excellent,” Bilbo said, retrieving a yellow highlighter and pencil. “Right, let’s have a look, shall we?”

Bilbo and Fili fell into silence and Bilbo began to read through the statement. Thorin watched his green-grey eyes moved over the page, his brow creased in concentration. Every so often he would highlight a word, or put a little pencilled star next to a sentence, or cross out the odd phrase. Thorin could feel Fili’s anxiety radiating from her across the bed as she waited for Bilbo’s verdict, and he wished he knew what to say to reassure her.

“Oh, this is brilliant, Fili!” Bilbo said finally, putting down his pencil and smiling up at her.

“… It is?” Fili asked, the shock clearly registering on her face.

“Definitely,” Bilbo replied, his eyes scanning the page again. “It flows very well, and you’ve got lots of lovely turns of phrase in here… Just a few little tweaks and we’ll have Birmingham begging you to accept their offers.”

“Shit,” Fili said, still clearly surprised, but now all her nerves had evaporated. “Okay… so, what are the little tweaks?”

Bilbo thought for a moment, a beautiful frown dividing his brow. “I think you need a stronger opening for your first paragraph; it needs to really hook the admissions tutor,” he explained. “You’re applying for a joint honours in Anthropology and Politics: two subjects which are, fundamentally, the study of people… and surely there is nothing more important than what the human race has done with its time on this earth. These subjects encompass everything: the past, the present, and what the future holds for all us… Understanding everything about human history and culture is the key to figuring out that future.”

Thorin and Fili were wearing identical expressions of awe as they exchanged glances, mouths agape. Bilbo studied both of them, seeming confused as to what had prompted this reaction.

“Okay, I will actually pay you to rewrite my personal statement for me,” Fili said. “Honestly, take my money, how much do you want?”

Bilbo chuckled. “No payment necessary, Fili, and you’re more than capable of doing this on your own.”

“Well, I’m still writing down what you just said,” Fili conceded, pulling a notebook from her rucksack and grabbing a pen from the pencil case in front of her.

“If you’re wanting to use someone else’s words, I suggest we find a pretentious but pertinent quote about humanity to start off your statement,” Bilbo commented. “I’m sure your tutors will love that.”

“Sounds good.” Fili set down her notebook. “Where do we start?”

“Hmm, well, how about you have a look at what the Greeks have to say about it?” Bilbo smiled, picking up a large volume from the pile on the table and passing it to Fili. “And I’ll tackle the Russians.”

“Can I, um, do anything?” Thorin asked, speaking for the first time.

He didn’t begrudge Bilbo and Fili their looks of surprise when they realised he was still in the room: they had been so engrossed in their work, and Thorin had been quite happy to simply sit and listen. Dain had become bored fairly early on and was now curled up at Thorin’s feet.

“Oh, you can just sit there and look pretty,” Bilbo replied, teasing in his tone as he patted Thorin’s hand, making Fili snort.

When Thorin continued to frown, Bilbo handed him another book from his pile. “Alright, how about you find out what twentieth century philosophers have to say about humanity?”

Thorin’s frown dissolved into a smile as he accepted the book; he was unable to keep up any irritation with Bilbo beaming at him like that.

For the next half an hour, the three of them worked on Fili’s personal statement, exchanging and discussing quotes, with Bilbo continuing to scribble amendments on the page in front of him. Thorin watched as Bilbo guided Fili through his annotations, speaking to her with such kindness and encouragement it made Thorin’s chest feel tight and unburdened all at the same time. His gaze remained fixed on Bilbo, taking in every one of the younger man’s animated gestures, the brightness in his eyes, his easy smile… and _I love you, I love you, I love you_ thrummed over and over again in his mind, as constant and sure as a heartbeat.

“So you were happy at Birmingham?”

Thorin was torn from his glassy-eyed musings when his mind suddenly snagged on part of Bilbo and Fili’s conversation. Bilbo set down his pencil and, sitting up a little straighter, he regarded Fili with a cryptic smile.

It seemed a very long time until he answered quietly: “Yes… My years at Birmingham were the happiest of my life… And I’m sure you’ll also be very happy there.”

Fili seemed to sense the weight in these words, and although she smiled, Thorin recognised the troubled look in her eyes. It came to Thorin then that this might be the reason Bilbo rarely removed his Birmingham hoody… and why they were sitting in a room bursting at the seams with books. Bilbo’s eyes flickered back to Fili’s personal statement and then they slowly rose to meet Thorin’s.

“They’re putting someone in your room,” he said softly.

Thorin was thrown by this change of subject, but he supposed it was provoked by the very palpable shift in mood as Bilbo was brought back to himself.

“I think Radagast is calling me over, back in a sec,” Fili announced, leaving the volume of Greek philosophy open on her seat before she swiftly exited the room.

Bilbo was smiling as he watched Fili leave. “So Fili gets her tact from her mother, then?”

Thorin knew he had easily figured out that Fili had decided to give them some space. He reached for Bilbo’s hand on the bed and gently ran his thumb over his knuckles. “When? I, er, I mean when are they putting someone in… next door?”

Thorin found he couldn’t quite bring himself to say ‘my room’, even though Bilbo was still clearly holding on to this notion. If he was honest, Thorin was surprised it had taken over a week for the hospital to be sent another patient who needed their care.

“Tomorrow,” Bilbo replied. “I’m crossing my fingers for another six-foot, socially awkward Adonis.”

Thorin froze at that, his response dying in his throat, and he wasn’t sure why his stomach squirmed.

“Thorin, that was a joke,” Bilbo said, smiling as he squeezed his hand. “I promise I don’t make a habit of hooking up with my next door neighbours.”

That earned a small smile, and Thorin leaned forward, Bilbo shifting to meet him so their heads rested together. “Good,” he mumbled.

“Anyway, according to Haldir he’s got a very scary and very protective fiancée, so I think I’ll keep my distance.”

Thorin straightened up. “Haldir’s back?”

The junior doctor had left the hospital a few weeks before Thorin was discharged to take part in one of Dr. Grey’s outreach projects. Thorin knew Bilbo believed it was a tactical move on the older doctor’s part because Thorin’s discharge date was coming up… Thorin thought Dr. Grey had just wanted to give everyone a break, but now it appeared this period of respite was over.

“But… you’re getting on alright?” Thorin asked carefully, hoping he had found a way to rephrase: ‘Is he still being an absolute dickhead to you?’

“His social skills have actually improved quite a bit,” Bilbo replied seriously. “Though I did enjoy having him arrange my first appointment with Dr. Cox… Made him feel as uncomfortable as possible.”

Thorin snorted, then brushed his thumb over Bilbo’s again. “So when is your appointment?”

“Next Tuesday… But would you mind, er, not discussing it with anyone? I don’t really want people knowing about…” Bilbo trailed off.

“Of course,” Thorin replied quietly. Sensing Bilbo’s agitation, he decided not to press him on it. “Thank you… for helping Fili today.” The feelings of love were rushing back in and he looked down at Bilbo with a warm smile.

“Oh, it’s been my pleasure, really,” Bilbo replied.

They studied each other for a few moments and then Thorin slowly leaned down, rubbing their noses together. Bilbo nuzzled back with a snicker, and then their lips met. Kissing Bilbo was such a welcome relief that Thorin went about it with more gusto than was probably necessary… and that was when his niece decided to walk back into the room.

“Radagast sent me back in!” Fili said, grinning wickedly as Thorin and Bilbo leapt apart.

Of course he bloody did, Thorin thought with a sigh: Radagast the moment ruiner strikes again.

 

…

 

“Kili, have you got the shopping list?”

“Yep!”

“Fili, bags?”

“Right here.”

“Okay, looks like we’re all sorted,” Dis said, twisting back around in the driver’s seat of the car.

Thorin sat beside her, staring out through the windscreen at the large orange letters of the Sainsbury’s sign. A trip to the supermarket was one of the things at the top of Thorin’s ‘List of Reintegration Activities’, along with his first journey on public transport. The latter had been fairly successful, but Thorin wasn’t so sure about this next challenge. His heartbeat was drumming in his ears and his throat was feeling tight, making breathing an unnecessary struggle. He knew he could ask Dis to drive them home and she would do so with no questions asked... but today he was determined to be brave.

He couldn’t spend the rest of his life avoiding public places because they were full of the unknown, because they were full of people just waiting to gawk at him, because they were plain terrifying… He just needed a few more moments to collect himself.

“Uncle?” Fili prompted, appearing between the front seats. “Do you want to get Dain out of the back so you can sit with him for a while?”

Dain was currently residing in the boot of the car, with the lid removed so he could still see out of the windows. Thorin turned to look past Fili and caught Dain’s eye. The Labrador instantly started panting with excitement. At least he seemed quite happy to be in Sainsbury’s carpark.

“No,” Thorin said finally, drawing in a deep breath through his nose. “Let’s… Let’s just get this over with.”

“Right,” Dis smiled. “Everybody out, take all your bags and personal belongings with you.”

Inhaling slowly and carefully, Thorin opened the door and clambered out of the car. He avoided his family’s concerned gazes as he went straight to the boot, lifting it up so Dain could jump out. He then knelt down in front of the Labrador, clipping on his lead and stroking his head. Dain could obviously sense his anxiety and he snuggled in closer to him, licking at his hands and nudging his chest. Thorin stayed crouched down for a few moments, focusing on his breathing, trying to ignore the heavy beat of his heart.

He was glad that nobody hurried him, not that he expected them to, and after another minute, he slowly got to his feet.

“Ready?” Dis asked gently.

Thorin returned a stiff nod, and then their little party set off towards the front doors of the supermarket. Fili fell into step at his side as Dis and Kili led the way.

“Remember, if you need a time-out, just let me know,” she whispered, her lips barely moving. “But it’s Friday morning, so it’ll hardly be busy.”

Thorin knew Dis had chosen this time on purpose to avoid giving him a proper baptism of fire, and he was thankful for that at least. Arriving at the doors, Thorin noticed the solemn-looking security guard eyeing Dain, but no comment was made and they passed through into the store. Dis secured them a trolley which, after some arguing, she let Kili push.

“Okay, what’s the first item on the list?” Dis asked, as they moved into the grocery aisle.

Kili had given the shopping list over to Fili’s care in favour of pushing the trolley. The list itself had been written by Kili: it was another activity embedded in their routines to help him improve his literacy. Dis would list the items for the weekly shop and Kili would write them out on a piece of yellow paper. Thorin glanced over Fili’s shoulder, noting that their first purchase was to be broccoli, which, Thorin noted with a smile, Kili had spelled correctly. He wasn’t even sure he would’ve got that one right.

They moved up and down the aisles in an orderly fashion, with Fili calling out items and she or Dis going to retrieve them whilst Kili dutifully pushed their trolley. Dain stayed close to Thorin, his body language indicating that he was alert and aware: showing he meant business and had no intention of letting any harm come to his partner. It made Thorin smile to himself, and after every couple of aisles he made sure he fed Dain a treat.

Fili was right that the supermarket was fairly quiet. Thorin knew that the few people there were looking at him and Dain, but most of their glances seemed curious rather than ill-intended… or pitying. As it was the school holidays there were a few children in the store. They mostly seemed excited by Dain and some pointed, tugging on sleeves, but they were steered on by their parents who smiled apologetically at Thorin the way the young woman on the bus had done.

They were about half-way down the aisles when Fili announced that they could speed things up by splitting into pairs. At first Thorin went rigid, but then he became aware of the fact that so far he had simply been walking mindlessly up and down the aisles without picking up a single thing… Maybe he should actually try and include himself in this family activity.

“How about I take Uncle to the dairy aisle whilst you and Kili go to the meat counter?” Fili suggested, glancing at Thorin for confirmation.

Thorin nodded, agreeing to the plan, and so Dis replied: “Okay, you take the list, meet you by the cheese in five?”

Fili grinned. “Come on, Uncle!”

Thorin followed his niece and they turned into the dairy aisle. She then surprised him by handing over the list.

“How about you pick up milk whilst I go and grab some sour cream? I’ll literally just be around this corner… Is that okay?”

“Oh,” Thorin said, tensing as he and Fili came to a stop.

“Or you can come with me and get sour cream, then we can pick up milk?” Fili offered.

Flexing his fingers around Dain’s lead, Thorin exhaled carefully. “No… I, er, I can get milk.”

Thorin knew the purpose of this shopping trip was to help him regain his independence, and he wasn’t going to achieve that by following Fili around the store like a three-year-old… Collecting milk might only be a small victory, but it would be a victory none the less.

“Great,” Fili beamed. “I’m just round this corner,” she repeated, gesturing behind her, and Thorin nodded.

He watched as Fili disappeared from the aisle, feeling a breath catch in his throat, but he swallowed and tried inhaling deeply again before moving to stand in front of the rows and rows of milk. Glancing down at the list, Thorin saw that Kili had simply written ‘Milk’ with no other indications as to what he was looking for. Thorin frowned at the plastic bottles of milk with various coloured tops, trying to remember what he had seen in their fridge that morning.

“Are you training him?”

Thorin started. Whipping his head to the side, he found a blonde-haired woman studying him. She appeared to be in her early thirties and was impeccably dressed in a light grey mac and black heels, and her face bore only the slightest hint of make-up.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” she smiled kindly.

Thorin glanced behind him, but Fili was nowhere in sight. Dain nudged reassuringly at his hand.

“Er… No, he’s… He’s mine,” Thorin replied, scratching behind Dain’s ear. Faramir had warned him that this would be a common question when he and Dain were out and about… unless he didn’t wear his beanie hat, of course, but Thorin had elected not to discuss that.

“Oh,” the woman said, clearly taken aback. “I’m sorry, it’s just you don’t look…”

Thorin bristled at that, but fought to keep his expression neutral. He had hoped this mistake would have driven the woman away with embarrassment, but luck was not on his side.

“Is it okay if I say hello?” she asked, continuing to smile at Thorin in a way that was starting to unnerve him. “I used to have a Labrador, but I had to have him put down a few years ago, and I still miss him.”

Thorin had no idea how he was supposed to respond, whether to offer his condolences or attempt to make small talk about their respective dogs, both living and deceased, so he simply replied with a stiff: “It’s fine.”

The woman’s blue eyes lit up as she dropped down in front of Dain and began to stroke his head. Dain didn’t move, but he didn’t relax into the attention the way he usually did… he could obviously sense Thorin’s unease.

“Hello, gorgeous,” the woman cooed, before glancing back up at Thorin. “What’s his name?”

“Dain,” Thorin replied curtly, before looking around for Fili… or Dis and Kili, anyone to save him from this ex-Labrador owner.

“Dain,” the woman repeated, stroking Dain’s forehead. “What a handsome name for a handsome boy.”

Dain looked up at Thorin and he was sure he could see pleading in his eyes, as if he was saying: ‘Why are you letting her do this to me?’

“You know, my cousin’s best friend has a guide dog,” the woman continued, and Thorin tried very hard not to imagine bludgeoning her to death with a four-litre bottle of semi-skimmed milk.

She looked back up at Thorin and… Damn it, why was she smiling at him like that?

“If you ever needed to talk to anyone about Dain, she’s really lovely… I can give you her number, if you’d like?”

Thorin was about to make a run for it when Fili finally appeared with a tub of sour cream. He had never been so pleased to see her.

“Hey,” Fili said, eyeing the woman warily. “Mum said to meet her by the cheese, so do you want to head there now?”

 “Oh.” The woman finally sounded embarrassed. “I didn’t realise…” Her eyes flickered to Thorin’s left hand. “Well, it was lovely to meet you, and thank you for letting me say hello to Dain.”

Before Thorin could reply, the woman was rushing off down the aisle as if she couldn’t wait to get away. Thorin stared after her, one eyebrow raised in confusion, before he turned to Fili. “A moment ago I couldn’t get rid of her and now she goes running off…” he murmured, trying desperately to understand what had just happened.

“I think when I said ‘Mum’ she thought I meant your wife,” Fili said carefully, and Thorin noted that she was using her ‘My Uncle Needs Things Explaining Slowly’ voice.

“But why would that matter?” Thorin asked, growing frustrated with his cluelessness.

“Uncle,” Fili said, with a wry smile, clearly trying to contain her glee. “She was hitting on you.”

Thorin stared at his niece. “…What?”

“She was trying to give you her phone number,” Fili grinned.

“But… she said it was her cousin’s best friend’s number,” Thorin stated lamely, already realising his mistake. How had he not figured this out? Once again, he had proven himself an idiot. “Why… why would she be interested in me?” he asked, feeling frustrated again. Was it normal for women to hit on men with assistance dogs in supermarkets?

“Okay, Uncle, I’m not entirely comfortable having this conversation with you, so maybe, er, ask Bilbo about it when you see him this afternoon?”

Thorin was about to protest, but then stopped, looking grumpily down at his feet. He didn’t want to make Fili feel uncomfortable, so he would just have to wait.

“So… Did you get the milk?” Fili asked, quickly changing the topic.

“No,” Thorin grumbled, glancing at the rows of bottles at his side.

“Okay, let’s grab a couple of pints and go and find Mum and – Oh shit!”

“What?” Thorin stared at his niece with concern.

“No way… Shit, it’s my History teacher and his idiot son… Move!”

Thorin responded to the command with practised ease and followed Fili back around the corner, watching as she flattened herself out against the shelves, as if trying to make herself invisible.

“What is Mr. Greenwood doing in Sainsbury’s?” she breathed. “God, I hate seeing teachers outside of school.”

“Wait…” Thorin furrowed his brow. “Your History teacher… the one who wrote all those horrible things on your essay?”

“Yeah, and his son – the other Mr. Greenwood – he’s a PGCE student in the tech department.”

“Okay… So, we’re hiding from them?” Thorin asked, feeling it would be unhelpful to offer to punch Fili’s History teacher in the face for being such a self-important twat.

“Yep, maybe teachers are like T-Rexes, if we stay really still, they won’t see us as they walk past.”

Thorin wanted to point out that this didn’t exactly work with Dis, but then Dis herself appeared with Kili pushing a packed trolley at her side. Dis clocked the looks of panic of both her brother and her daughter’s faces and immediately folded her arms.

“What have you two done?” she asked sternly.

“Hi, Mr. Greenwood!”

Fili grimaced as her brother’s cheery call signalled the arrival of her History teacher and his son. Thorin slowly turned to find a very tall man in sleek designer clothing standing in front of them. His short, white blonde hair was slicked back over his head beneath a pair of expensive-looking black sunglasses. His son was equally blonde and designer clad, but his expression was less-threatening and he smiled at Kili.

“Good morning, Fili,” Mr. Greenwood drawled, a hint of hostility in his voice.

“Morning, Sir,” Fili replied, seeming to show quite a bit of restraint as her teacher’s eyes slowly moved over her family. “Enjoying your summer?”

“Quite,” Mr. Greenwood said curtly. “How are you finding the essay I set?”

“It’s finished.”

“Really? May I ask if you found some more appealing sources this time around?” Mr. Greenwood enquired silkily, and it was obviously a challenge.

“Oh yes,” Fili smiled politely. “I used some of Yehuda Bauer’s 1970s work on Jewish Resistance and linked it to a few theories by Bilbo Baggins – he’s a military tactician, but I’m sure you’ve heard of him.”

Thorin froze at the unexpected mention of Bilbo’s name, but the flicker of annoyance in Mr. Greenwood’s eyes made him relax. Fili knew she had just scored a point and he was silently cheering for her… Whilst still resisting the urge to punch the teacher in his smug, sneering face.

“Yes, alright, Fili,” Dis said, moving forward, trying to placate her daughter. “I’m Dis Oakenshield, Fili’s mother,” she said, addressing Mr. Greenwood as she held out her hand.

Thorin sensed there was some calculation in Dis’ movements, some attempt at power play, and as Dis was more than aware of the way Fili’s essays had been marked, he was surprised Mr. Greenwood was still living.

“I’m Head of Humanities at Blue Mountains,” she added, as they shook hands.

“Christ,” Mr. Greenwood said, sounding bored. “I do hope they pay you danger money.”

If looks could kill, Mr. Greenwood would have had to be carried out of the store in a coffin. Fili looked equally murderous at this insult, but, surprisingly, both women remained calm.

“Yes, well, out of the two of us I think I know who is more likely to be stabbed by one of their students,” Dis replied pleasantly. “Now, if you’d excuse us, we must be off. Have a lovely rest of your summer, Mr. Greenwood!”

And with that, Dis marched off towards the check-outs, grabbing hold of the trolley and steering Kili with it. Thorin wouldn’t have moved if Fili hadn’t touched his elbow and guided him away: he was too in awe of Dis and the crushing blow she had just dealt.

“Oh my _God_ , Mum,” Fili gasped, her grin about to split her face in two. “I can’t believe you said that!”

Dis didn’t reply, but her smile indicated that she was pleased with her daughter’s reaction.

“Mr. Greenwood is going to need to go to the frozen food aisle and get some ice for that burn!”

“Yes, yes, alright, Fili, now come on, help me unload the trolley.”

They had reached the check-outs now and Kili carefully positioned the trolley so they could begin placing their items on the conveyor belt.

It wasn’t until their shopping had been bagged, paid for, and loaded into the boot along with Dain that Dis asked: “Did you actually pick up any milk?”

Thorin and Fili exchanged guilty glances.

“Oh, sod it,” Dis sighed, reversing out of their space in the carpark. “We’ll just have to go to Tesco Express on the way home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of you eagle-eyed readers may have noticed that I’ve changed Thranduil and Legolas’s last name from Greenleaf to Greenwood as this seemed to make more sense – this has also been edited in Chapter Five!
> 
> As I said at the start of this chapter, the past five weeks have been quite awful, if I’m honest, so thank you to everyone who has supported this fic – it’s you guys who have got me through this year, and your feedback never fails to make me smile. 
> 
> Coming up in Chapter 23: 'Obstacles' turns a little bit ‘Fault in Our Stars’ and Thorin finds himself going to support group ;)


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m now feeling replenished and refreshed and ready to force poor Thorin into more awkward situations…

Thorin couldn’t move. The concrete was hard and cold beneath him, but this was nothing compared to the invisible weight crushing down on his chest and his limbs, forcing his body to remain motionless and prone on the small, grey square of the cell’s floor.

He desperately tried to flex his fingers, to shift his feet, but his body wouldn’t respond, and he was left trapped inside his own head, wide eyes staring up at the blurry, colourless expanse above him that could never be the sky, only another stretch of concrete, closing him in.

There was blood drying on the left side of his face and he felt a sickly prickle as it slowly changed from dark red to rusty brown. He knew it had once been burning, and he should be thankful for this dulling of pain, but now the fire had burnt itself out, a diabolical host of new sensations surged forward to take its place.

The panic spread out from the centre of his chest like cracks sprawling across ice from the first point pierced by the pick. It reached into the depths of his stomach, mingling with the fear already festering there, and shot down his arms and legs, keeping him pinned to the cold floor. It seemed the only parts of his body still capable of movement were his eyes, which darted frantically about the grey cage, although he had no idea what he was searching for, or what he was expecting to find.

And that’s when he heard it.

Somewhere, Bilbo was screaming.

The shrieks fell like daggers into Thorin’s chest and he fought wildly against the paralysis shackling him to the floor. His lips formed the younger man’s name as he tried to call out for him, but no sound echoed around the cell. Thorin could feel the two syllables being spat from his mouth over and over again, and his throat became raw with the effort, but still only silence surrounded him, as suffocating as the weight on his chest.

Tears were stinging the corners of Thorin’s eyes as Bilbo continued to cry out in pain, and each scream wrenched a knife through his ribcage. He needed to help Bilbo, he needed to save him… but he was nothing but a powerless pile of bones, trapped in the cell, far, far away from the man he loved.

Cool water touched Thorin’s heels.

Eyes going wide, Thorin felt the breath snatched from his lungs as the wetness clung to his ankles, snaking up to his knees… They were flooding his cell, which could mean only one thing was about to happen. And then Thorin was trying to scream Bilbo’s name as loud as he could, matching the other man’s terrifying cries.

The water was crawling under his back… but suddenly there was something warm trailing over his face and the ground was caving in beneath him and he was falling through it… falling… falling…

Thorin’s eyes flew open and he lurched upright, letting out a cry that quickly faded into the darkened room.

Dain was in his lap, licking at his face, snuffling into his neck, pawing at his chest. Thorin didn’t push him away. Instead, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and pulled the Labrador with him, wrapping his arms around him and burying his face in the soft, brown fur of Dain’s neck. Taking all of this in his stride, Dain pushed his nose into Thorin’s shoulder and snuggled closer into his side.

Keeping his eyes closed against the tears, Thorin let out a muffled sob and continued to cling to Dain like a frightened child clutching a teddy bear. He was sure the Labrador could feel him shaking, just as he could feel his heart trying to punch its way out of his chest. His breaths came in short, sharp bursts as he attempted to anchor himself to reality.

_It was a dream… It wasn’t real… It wasn’t real…_

Footsteps sounded on the landing. Thorin looked up as his room was flooded with harsh yellow light and Dis slipped carefully inside. She closed the door to behind her, returning them to darkness. Thorin watched as his sister approached him with obvious caution and came to kneel by the bed.

“Alright, sweetheart,” she whispered, her tone low and soothing.

Thorin kept his arms wrapped tightly around Dain and studied his sister, half his face still hidden in the Labrador’s neck. He knew he must look ridiculous: a thirty-eight year old man cowering on his bed like a child afraid of the dark, but he found he was too exhausted to contemplate embarrassment.

“Would you like me to turn the light on?” Dis asked gently.

Thorin slowly shook his head. “Too bright,” he mumbled.

“Okay, how about your bedside lamp, just so we can see each other better?”

Thorin knew Dis was wanting to give him a proper once over, but his sessions with Dr. Grey had taught him this was out of love, not a desire to criticise. He nodded. Dis flicked on the lamp standing on the table to her left and its light was soft, not like the garish light that had flooded in from the hallway.

“What do you need?” Dis murmured. Her hand came to rest on the bed, just next to Thorin’s knee.

The question seemed to have so many answers in Thorin’s mind, and the one thing he really wanted was an impossibility at that moment. He would have to start small.

“Wet flannels,” Thorin replied hoarsely, remembering how comforting the toasty flannel had been as Radagast pressed it into his hand.

Dis smiled softly, seeming happy her brother was being so communicative. “Warm or cold water?”

Thorin shuddered when he thought of the freezing concrete and the icy water lapping at his heels. “Warm.”

There was a creak outside of his door, followed by a few urgent, hushed words. Dis glanced towards the landing and then turned to her brother. “Fili and Kili are outside,” she said quietly. “But I can send them straight back to bed.”

At first the prospect of his niece and nephew seeing him in such a pathetic state was more than unnerving for Thorin, but then he was unexpectedly overcome by the desire to be surrounded by his family, as if there really was safety in numbers. However, he wasn’t sure the comfort would work both ways.

“I… I don’t want to scare Kili,” Thorin said, avoiding Dis' eye, shifting his arms around Dain.

“You won’t,” Dis replied simply. She spoke with such conviction that Thorin felt there was some concrete reasoning behind her assurance, and he wasn’t going to question it.

“Okay.”

“I’ll just go and fetch your flannel from the bathroom.”

Dis rose to her feet and returned out onto the landing. She exchanged a few words with her children, but they were too quiet for Thorin to hear. He waited, still feeling a half-hearted pummelling at his ribs, and then Fili and Kili moved into the room. Thorin tensed, feeling some colour rising in his tear-stained cheeks, but the matching expressions of affection as his niece and nephew entered the room stayed any feelings of humiliation.

Fili mimicked her mother’s pose almost exactly by crouching down in front of him. Kili, however, came to his side and sat down next to him on the bed, their arms touching. He then slowly leant his head on his uncle’s shoulder, providing a warm, reassuring weight. After a few moments, Thorin tilted his head and rested the side of his face on Kili’s unruly mop of dark hair.

“Would you like to speak to someone at the hospital?” Fili asked carefully, studying him with warm, blue eyes.

Thorin couldn’t quite tell if she was intimating that he speak to Dr. Grey or that he should ask to speak to Bilbo… He thought of his silent screams for the younger man whilst trapped in the nightmare and suddenly wondered if, in reality, they had been as silent.

“I’ll be alright,” he answered, closing his eyes. He didn’t want to speak to the doctor and, as comforting as Bilbo’s voice would be, he didn’t want to wake him. Bilbo had enough trouble sleeping at night without a distraught, out of the blue phone call… There was also a thought lurking at the back of his mind that if he heard Bilbo on the other end of the phone, the only thing that would sound in his ears would be his screams. Thorin shivered and Kili moved closer to his side.

There was a low creak as Dis reappeared in the room bearing the requested flannel. Thorin straightened up and Dain finally slid lower into his lap, curling himself into a ball.

“Thank you,” Thorin whispered, taking the warm flannel, sighing as his fingers sank into it.

His family watched in silence as he slowly wiped his face and neck, Dis hovering next to her daughter, and Kili waiting patiently at his side. After the soothing heat had dissipated, Thorin lowered his hand, keeping the flannel bunched in his fist.

“Sorry… for waking you all,” he said, staring down into his lap, feeling the first stirrings of guilt in his stomach.

Dis’ response was instantaneous: “Oh, you don’t need to apologise, love.”

This was quickly joined by Fili’s: “Honestly, Uncle, we don’t mind.”

Thorin could find no strain in their voices, only genuine warmth, and so, too tired to argue, he decided to let that one go.

They fell into silence for a few long moments and then, noticing Dis and Fili’s ‘What now?’ expressions, Thorin muttered: “I… don’t want to go back to sleep.”

“Okay,” Fili said, giving him a reassuring smile. “How about we head downstairs and stick a film on? Something light-hearted and upbeat?”

After a few moments, Thorin nodded: he needed a change of scenery. With this gesture of acquiescence, both Fili and Kili got to their feet. Thorin shifted on the bed and Dain jumped down onto the floor with a soft thud. Dis led the way down the stairs and Thorin fell into step behind her. Kili appeared at his side and, without a word, slipped his hand into his uncle’s. Fili brought up the rear of their party.

With Dis going to the kitchen to put the kettle on and Fili turning her attentions to the television, Thorin sank down into the many cushions of the sofa with Dain at one side, Kili at the other. His nephew was yet to say a word to him, but Thorin found his presence was more than enough: it was both solid and comforting. Kili tucked his legs under him and leaned into his uncle’s shoulder again.

Fili appeared to be having an argument with the DVD player, but finally the disc slot slid open and, with a triumphant flourish, she pulled the _Mama Mia!_ DVD from its box.

 

…

 

Bilbo winced as Rosie placed the thermometer into his ear. Thorin squeezed his hand on the bed, but this seemed to do little to ease Bilbo’s discomfort. There was an electronic beep and then Rosie was frowning at the reading before her. Thorin’s stomach clenched: he knew this meant Bilbo’s temperature was still worryingly high.

“Did you drink the last glass of water I poured for you?” the nurse asked carefully, packing away the thermometer.

“Most of it,” Bilbo replied, avoiding her eye.

“Hmm,” came Rosie’s only response. Thorin took this as a cue to release Bilbo’s hand and twist himself around so he could pour more water into the cup on the bedside table.

Bilbo had been running a temperature since early that morning. Dr. Grey believed it was either the start of a virus or simply his body’s response to the summer’s second heatwave as they moved further into August. Either way, Thorin was fretting. He hated seeing Bilbo sweaty and uncomfortable, his cheeks unusually flushed with red. The situation couldn’t have been helped by the grey Birmingham hoodie that was still zipped up to Bilbo’s chin, but Thorin knew better than to ask why he hadn’t removed it. He also found it incredibly unfair that someone who was battling mental illness should have to suffer physical illnesses as well: it hadn’t occurred to him that Bilbo would be just as vulnerable as anyone else to garden variety ailments such as colds and fevers.

After one pointed glance in Bilbo’s direction, Rosie returned to the nurses’ station. Thorin pressed the cup into Bilbo’s hands and he managed a weak smile in response.

“I’m not going.”

Bilbo stopped mid-sip and lowered the cup into his lap. “Thorin.”

“I can’t,” Thorin protested. “Not when you’re feeling like this.”

“You can and you will,” Bilbo replied firmly, and the look of defiance in his eyes made Thorin shrink back a little. “I’m fine, Thorin. Just feeling a bit dizzy and tired, that’s all… and if you don’t go, I am going to make your life truly miserable for the next ninety minutes.”

Thorin sighed, defeated. This was the reason he was trying to make sure Bilbo and Dis were never in the same room for a prolonged period of time: God help him should that ever happen.

“I don’t want to go to Faramir’s support group,” Thorin grumbled, in one last ditch effort at protest.

“You’re very cute when you’re grumpy,” Bilbo grinned, before taking another sip of his water, making it clear that Thorin didn’t have a choice in the matter.

Thorin hated it when Bilbo called anything about him ‘cute’; he was sure his cheeks were now as flushed as Bilbo’s… and then he had what he believed was a stroke of genius.

“If I take my top off, will you still make me go?”

Bilbo snorted into his water.

“As much as we’ve appreciated your torso this year, Thorin, I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure I have one less overbearing spouse to deal with this evening.”

Poppy had appeared in the doorway. Rosie was clearly rubbing off on her. Thorin knew the nurse was referring to Arwen, the headstrong fiancée of Bilbo’s new next door neighbour. Thorin didn’t know much about Aragorn, the ward’s latest addition: Bilbo told him that he slept a lot and said very little to anyone. Arwen, however, seemed to be quite vocal about making sure her partner was getting the best possible care at the hospital. It wasn’t until Aragorn had arrived that Dr. Grey revealed that Arwen’s father, Dr. Elrond Peredhil, was an esteemed research psychologist at Leeds University. His daughter, therefore, seemed to know a fair bit about Aragorn’s treatment: something she wasn’t afraid of pointing out.

“I’m here to take you to the meeting room.” Poppy came to Thorin’s side.

Thorin looked at Bilbo, who was smiling at him. Of course Bilbo had asked for him to be personally escorted to the support group. He should’ve seen that one coming.

Letting out an exasperated sigh, Thorin looped Dain’s lead over his wrist and the Labrador roused himself, getting to his feet.

“But someone will come and get me if you feel worse?” Thorin asked seriously, furrowing his brow.

“Of course we will,” Poppy said, as she ushered him up and out of the chair.

“Have fun, play nicely with the other patients,” Bilbo said cheerfully.

Thorin mumbled a few choice, inaudible words but still leaned down to lightly kiss Bilbo’s forehead, one hand brushing his neck, trying not to notice the sweat gathering there. And with that, he allowed Poppy to steer him back out onto the ward.

The room where the support group was being held was on the same corridor as Dr. Grey’s office. Thorin half-expected the doctor to appear and simply smile knowingly at him, but luckily they passed his office door without incident.

Almost reaching the end of the corridor, Poppy finally stopped. “Here we are,” she said, pushing open the door in front of her, but not entering. “Faramir will already be setting up.”

Feeling his lungs shudder and his heart begin thumping inside his chest, Thorin shuffled through the door. He found himself in a room far larger than he had expected, though its size may have been exaggerated by its fairly sparse furnishings. The walls were the same sunny yellow as the dayroom and there were a few tables pushed up against them. One, at the opposite end of the room, was laden with what appeared to be plates of biscuits and bowls of sachets, and a silver tea urn glinted in the corner. What dominated the space, however, was the loose circle of plastic chairs placed at its centre and Thorin’s stomach dropped… Nothing screamed group therapy like an ominous circle of chairs.

“Thorin!”

Tearing his eyes away from the chairs, Thorin found Faramir strolling over to him with a black Labrador in tow. “Glad you could make it,” the trainer beamed. “And how are you doing, Dain? Excited to make some friends?”

Dain’s tail started a manic wagging motion, demonstrating his obvious glee at the situation, and Thorin scratched at his ears. He had no doubt that Dain would revel in this opportunity to be sociable… unlike his partner.

“People will start to arrive soon,” Faramir explained. “But, in the meantime, if you want to head over and grab a coffee…” He gestured at the table behind him.

Thorin shifted on the spot, eyeing the table with the tea urn again.

“And Thorin…” Faramir had dropped his voice now. “This group isn’t meant to be a punishment. You don’t have to say one word today: the lads won’t think anything of it, I promise. Just sit and watch if it’ll make you feel more comfortable.”

“Uh, okay,” Thorin replied quietly, trying to tell himself he felt reassured.

Faramir moved away to go and deal with what looked like a stack of blue gym mats leaning against the wall, and so Thorin went in search of coffee. Arriving at the table at the back of the room, his eyes moved over the bowls of different coloured sachets. There were several cups made of corrugated cardboard lined up in a regimented fashion. Glancing down at his hands, he saw that they were shaking. He swallowed and reached for Dain, who dutifully licked at his fingers and nudged his thigh in reassurance.

Thorin wasn’t sure how long he stood at the table, staring rather intensely at the spread in front of him, but suddenly a voice sounded to his left.

“Don’t worry, it’s not as bad as the hospital coffee.”

Looking up, Thorin found a grey-haired man standing next to him, a golden retriever at his side. At first he assumed the man was at least into his fifties, but then he noticed his face was younger than the silver hair suggested: he was perhaps in his early forties, and there were few lines on his face… apart from a white scar that ran down one side of his chin from under his lip.

“Oh,” Thorin replied, master of eloquence that he was. Peering behind him, he saw two other men with their respective assistance dogs sitting in the circle of chairs whilst Faramir greeted another, much younger man at the door. He must have zoned out for an unnerving amount of time.

“This stuff’s all provided care of Faramir’s wife, so it’s fit for human consumption,” the man continued. “I’m Graham, by the way.”

Thorin noted that Graham didn’t offer his hand as would be expected from an introduction, but he reminded himself that he was amongst other outpatients now: they knew the score, and many of them probably had their own issues with physical contact.

“And this is Florence, my better half,” Graham added, stroking the golden retriever fondly.

“Thorin,” Thorin said, wincing at how gruff he had sounded, but pleased he had managed to say something… even if it was only his own name. “I… I’m Thorin and this is Dain.”

He found himself mimicking Graham as he stroked Dain’s head. Dain, however, seemed to only have eyes for Florence: he was watching her with his head tilted. Thorin was still surprised that he hadn’t greeted Faramir’s black Labrador with more bravado… but he also knew their assistance dogs were trained not to properly interact with other dogs unless prompted.

“I’ve met Dain a few times before,” Graham smiled. “Faramir brought him to Group whilst he was being trained.”

“Oh… right,” Thorin replied awkwardly. He looked down at his left hand and saw it was still shaking; he quickly pushed it into his jeans pocket.

“Want me to sort a coffee out for you?” Graham asked casually.

There was no pity in his tone… It was difficult to explain, but Thorin felt there was a marked difference between an offer of help made by staff and one made by patients. He wasn’t sure how, but he knew Graham was offering because he genuinely understood his situation.

“Please,” Thorin said quietly.

Without a word, Florence suddenly sat down and Graham slipped her lead from his wrist and placed it in her mouth, allowing him to move freely with both hands. Florence sat there, holding her own lead, looking up at Thorin with interest.

“This Kenco alright?” Graham asked, holding out a sachet for Thorin, and he nodded. “How d'you take it?”

“Er, just milk,” Thorin replied, as Graham emptied the sachet and turned to the tea urn.

“You know, I heard on the grapevine that two patients actually launched some sort of jailbreak and went to a coffee shop down the road.”

Thorin froze, staring at Graham with wide eyes. He hadn’t expected news of his and Bilbo’s excursion to have reached beyond the ward. Graham finished stirring Thorin’s cup of coffee with a plastic spoon and then handed it to him. Thorin had to commend Graham for how quickly he lowered his raised eyebrow after seeing his expression of horror.

“Apparently they, er, disguised themselves in scrubs, pretended to be nurses,” Graham said, obviously deciding to plough on despite Thorin’s confounding behaviour.

“I know,” Thorin murmured.

“Oh, right,” Graham replied. “Well, I’m guessing you were on the ward at the time?”

Thorin shifted on the spot. “It was me… I, er, I broke out.”

Thorin supposed it was fairly comical, watching the realisation dawn on Graham’s face, and then he was grinning. “You’re joking?”

“No…” Thorin was sure he was going red. “I did it.”

“Jesus,” Graham said, still grinning. “You, mate, are my hero… Who’d you break out with?”

Thorin reached for Dain. He wasn’t comfortable revealing his relationship with Bilbo to someone he had just met, but he supposed Graham would hardly make the leap if he only gave him Bilbo’s name. It was likely that Graham and Bilbo had been inpatients at the same time, so perhaps they knew each other… Maybe it would be good for Bilbo to hear some good wishes from a past acquaintance.

“Bilbo Baggins,” Thorin answered carefully.

Something flickered in Graham’s eyes. “Oh… Oh, okay, yeah, Bilbo… Clever bloke: definitely one who’d be able to pull that off.”

“You know him?” Thorin asked, trying and failing to figure out the look that had flashed in Graham’s gaze when he mentioned Bilbo’s name.

“Yeah, yeah… He, er, beat me at chess a few times,” Graham said, reaching out to retrieve Florence’s lead, his coffee cup in the other hand. “Think he found me a bit irritating, to be honest.”

Graham slipped on a smile, but Thorin was left feeling confused. He couldn’t imagine Bilbo finding another patient irritating… He had only snapped at Ori because of certain changes in circumstances, and God knows he had the patience of a saint when it came to Thorin himself.

“Oi, Graham, even Florence is rolling her eyes! Quit gassin’ and get your arse over here!”

Thorin looked up to find the circle of chairs was now occupied by three patients with their respective dogs, along with Faramir and his black Labrador. The oldest of the three patients, a man with thinning, dark brown hair, seemed to be the one who had shouted over at Graham.

Graham smiled apologetically at Thorin. “Shall we sit?”

Thorin nodded and followed him to the chairs, taking a seat at his side.

“You are a charming git, Bert,” Graham said, turning to his antagoniser, who was sitting on his left.

Thorin studied Bert warily, and then his eyes moved to the man next to him who was red-headed and freckled, possibly in his mid-thirties, with a yellow Labrador lying placidly at his feet. He was speaking to the broad-shouldered, fair-haired man Faramir had greeted at the door, who only appeared to be in his early twenties, and was scratching the ears of his golden retriever. Thorin had expected there to be more people at the support group, but then again, he supposed fully-trained psychological assistance dogs were a rarity and Faramir’s project hadn’t been running for all that long.

“Right,” Faramir said, leaning forward in his chair, and the room fell silent. “Seen as Thorin is joining us this evening, I think we need to make some introductions.”

A general groan rose up, and then Bert was speaking again: “Do you want us to say one interesting fact about ourselves?”

“Or is it the old ‘If you could be any animal, what would you be?’” the red-haired man piped up.

“And, more importantly, can I introduce you, Faramir?” Bert put in again.

“If you feel that’s absolutely necessary,” Faramir said, sounding mildly exasperated, but still managing a fond smile for the circle.

Bert was suddenly leaning forward around Graham so he could catch Thorin’s eye. “Thorin, this is Faramir: he’s a greasy-haired hippie with a hot wife and a questionable interest in Labradors.”  

As scary as Bert was, Thorin couldn’t help but smile at that. He was genuinely surprised by the support group: this wasn’t therapy, it was a Tuesday night down the pub, and Thorin found himself quite liking it. The casual atmosphere, general sense of camaraderie and joshing humour was unexpected… Thorin had almost forgotten that the other four men he was sitting with were facing the same challenges as him, and maybe much worse.

“Okay, thanks for that, Bert,” Faramir said. “If the rest of you could introduce yourselves with whatever sordid information you deem fit.” He gestured to the red-haired man sitting closest to him.

“Er, right, well, I’m Bill and I’m an alcoholic… No, shit, wait… Wrong support group…”

Thorin snorted, but found he was the only one – the other men were groaning again.

“He makes the same joke every week,” Graham said quietly, smirking over at Thorin.

“Thorin thinks I’m funny!” Bill insisted.  

“That’s because he hasn’t heard that joke every Tuesday for the past six months,” the younger man at his side put in, rolling his eyes.

“Alright, alright,” Bill sighed. “Fine, I’m Bill, I’m _not_ an alcoholic, but I am partnered with Minty here.” He patted the Labrador at his feet, before turning to the younger, fair-haired man next to him.

“Okay, so I’m Tom,” he said, introducing himself. “And this is Bungle, who, incidentally, is a total babe magnet.”

More groans rose up, but seemed good-natured. As the comments started to fly about Tom’s dubious pulling techniques, Graham lowered his voice and whispered to Thorin: “Tom’s only twenty-two… His girlfriend left him when he ended up in Ered Luin, poor bastard.”

Thorin nodded seriously, but then smiled over at Tom, who was grinning at him, as if seeking his approval.

“Now, Bert, I dread to ask,” Faramir said, taking control of the group again.

“Nowt to say, really,” Bert replied. “I’m Bert, this is Daisy, and I’m happy we’ve got you mugs to keep us company on this fine Tuesday evening.”

“Don’t you go getting soppy on us, Bert,” Graham said, nudging Bert at his side. “Right, well, I’m Graham, this is Florence, and I’m just here for the free biscuits.”

The other men laughed and then Bill was pointing an accusing finger. “Yeah, I saw you stuffing your pockets full of custard creams last week, you sneaky git.”

Thorin waited as the laughter died out and then suddenly he realised the attention had been turned on him to complete the circle. Thorin began flexing his fingers and Dain dragged himself up on the floor, resting his head on his knee.

“You don’t have to say anything, Thorin,” Faramir said softly, with a small smile.

“Oh, okay,” Thorin murmured. “Yeah, I suppose I’m good at talking to dogs but shit at talking to people.”

His comment was met with laughter, including Graham’s, and Bert slapped his knee. Thorin felt his cheeks colour, but smiled all the same, happy he had been able to contribute something to the group.

“How’s James doing?”

This sombre-sounding comment came from Bill and the room had fallen quiet again.

“He was discharged yesterday,” Faramir replied. “And Linda says he’s doing well, settling back in at home.”

“Being readmitted’s a real fucker,” Bert commented, shaking his head. “How’s Myrtle taken it?”

“I’m doing a home-visit tomorrow to go through some new training. Linda said James has been asking after you all, so you’re more than welcome to come along and see him.”

The men around the circle nodded, and Thorin realised they were obviously missing a regular at the group… an outpatient who had recently been readmitted to the hospital. Thorin shifted on his chair, scratching Dain behind the ears. In the periphery of his vision he could now see Graham looking stony-faced. It was a reminder that as loud and cheerful as these men were, they were all fighting their own battles on different fronts… Maybe the humour itself was a kind of front.

“Okay, lads, time to get out your mats,” Faramir announced, jolting Thorin from his thoughts. “I’ve got a few tricks to show you.”

 

…

 

This wasn’t exactly the position Thorin had expected to find himself in that evening. He rolled his shoulders again, making Dain bob up and down on his chest. Faramir was going through some ‘deep pressure’ training with them, which involved Thorin lying down on his back on one of the blue gym mats whilst Dain lay on top of him. It was a technique that could be used to help calm him down from a panic attack, and he did find Dain’s warm weight on his chest and abdomen quite soothing. Dain also seemed to be enjoying himself and he was panting happily as he peered down at Thorin.

“Well, this is an unexpected reminder of last Friday night,” Graham said, from his mat next to Thorin.

Thorin turned to the older man with a laugh. “Though I’m guessing she wasn’t as hairy?”

“Oh, more so, I’d say,” Graham chuckled, reaching up to pat Florence, who had her head rested on his shoulder.

“Alright, gents, that’s us done for the evening.”

Faramir’s disembodied voice came from somewhere beyond Thorin’s feet.

“If you want to give your partners the command to dismount, and then pop your mats back against the wall for me, that would be much appreciated.”

Thorin looked up at Dain. “Dain, off,” he said firmly, pointing to his side. Without hesitation, the Labrador slid from Thorin’s chest and sat down at his side. Thorin slowly pulled himself up into a sitting position, feeling the muscles in his arms flair up in protest.

Graham appeared in front of him, Florence trotting at his side. “I’ll give you a hand up, mate,” he said, holding out his hand.

“Cheers,” Thorin replied gratefully, grasping Graham’s hand and letting the older man pull him to his feet.

Feeling his leg muscles complain the same way as his arms had done, Thorin groaned. “I’m really not as fit as I used to be.”

Up until recently, it hadn’t bothered Thorin that he had lost much of his robustness and strength maintained by two decades in the Forces: he hadn’t needed it whilst in hospital, but now he was back out in the world, he had started to grow frustrated with his lack of physical fitness.

“Ah, don’t worry, it’s what happens when you get cooked breakfast every day,” Graham said, dragging his mat on its side over to the wall.

Thorin picked up his own mat and followed him.  

“There’s loads of stuff you can do though – to get back in shape,” Graham said, as they returned to the chairs where they had left their jackets. “Flo and I run a lot through the park – Tom and Bungle join us sometimes. But we go to the gym as well, and I’ve just taken up swimming again.”

“Swimming?” Thorin asked, raising his eyebrow at Florence, picturing her doggy-paddling next to Graham in the pool.

Graham laughed, obviously cottoning on to Thorin’s thought process. “Oh, she doesn’t actually get in the water with me. She sits at one end of the pool with a life guard, I just have to give her a pat every two lengths so she knows I’m okay… Faramir had to do a bit of extra training with her because she freaked out the first couple of times. You know, she was convinced I was drowning and kept trying to jump in after me, but she’s good as gold now.”

Thorin smiled at Florence as he shrugged on his jacket, wondering if Dain would be able to go through the same training… He could hide his scar under a swimming cap, although the chocolate Labrador waiting for him at one end of the pool would still make him fairly conspicuous.

“You should ask Faramir about it,” Graham prompted. “But, in the meantime, if you want to go out for a run… or I could even bring you as a guest to my gym.”

Thorin furrowed his brow, mulling over Graham’s proposition. He hadn’t expected to actually make any friends at Faramir’s support group… but maybe he hadn’t expected this kind of support group. It would be good to start exercising again and it was better – not to mention safer - to do that with another person. He could also keep Dr. Grey and Bilbo off his back if he showed them he was actually capable of being sociable… There was the niggling thought that Graham believed Bilbo found him irritating, but he was sure Bilbo wouldn’t mind, just as he was sure Graham must have gotten the wrong end of the stick with Bilbo’s opinion of him.

“Er… sure, okay,” Thorin replied finally.

“Great.” Graham pulled a mobile from his jacket pocket. “Is it okay if we exchange numbers so I can give you a ring about a run later in the week?”

“Oh,” Thorin stared at the phone in Graham’s hand. “Yeah, er… I… I only have four numbers in my phone, so it’d be nice to have someone who isn’t related to me or the hospital.”

Graham grinned. “I know the feeling… I can’t remember the last time I got a call from someone who wasn’t my mum.”

Thorin pulled his battered, brick of a phone from his jeans pocket. Fili had been trying to convince him to buy an iPhone, but Thorin hadn’t seen the point as it was only really needed for emergencies, so he had been using one of Dis’ old phones… which was very probably older than Kili.

“I don’t really know how this works,” Thorin said, frowning at the glowing screen. “I’m… er, not even sure how to add a new number.”

“Want me to take a look?” Graham offered, with a sympathetic smile.

Thorin nodded and passed the mobile over. “Also… I, um, don’t… know my number off by heart,” he admitted, cringing. He really was spectacularly awful at this.

“Not to worry,” Graham said, tapping his number into Thorin’s phone. “I’m sure it’s saved somewhere in the phone… Okay, let me check…” Graham scrolled through a few different menus. “Right, here we go…” He turned back to his phone and added Thorin’s number. “Sorted.” Graham passed the phone back with a grin.

“Thanks,” Thorin said, pocketing it.

Faramir was ushering everyone out now, and so Thorin said his goodbyes, and then headed back to the ward, feeling triumphant.

 

…

 

“Well, you certainly look pleased with yourself,” Bilbo commented, as Thorin entered the room.

“How are you feeling?” Thorin asked, taking a seat at Bilbo’s side and reaching for his hand. His skin wasn’t as clammy as it had been, but his cheeks were still flushed with colour.

“I had a little nap, so I suppose I am feeling better,” Bilbo replied, running his thumb over Thorin’s. “So… how was support group?”

“Er, good, actually.” Thorin wasn’t exactly sure how to explain the rambunctious but generally well-meant humour of Graham, Bert, Bill, and Tom… Perhaps he should just quote their introductions verbatim.

“You made some friends, then?”

“Yeah…” Thorin drew in a breath. “Someone who knows you, actually… A guy called Graham.”

Bilbo stilled, studying Thorin with a worrying look in his eyes. “Graham? With grey hair?”

“Yeah,” Thorin said, trying and failing to decipher Bilbo’s expression. “He… er, he takes his dog, Florence, out for runs and to the gym… Oh, and swimming sometimes… He’s asked me to go for a run with him later this week, so we, er, swapped numbers… so…”

Bilbo pulled his hand from Thorin’s and he was now sitting up very straight. “You gave Graham your phone number?”

Thorin’s stomach twisted in on itself. Bilbo didn’t look happy, but he wasn’t sure what he had done wrong. “Er, yes… Just… just so we can go out running.”

Bilbo’s fingers curled in his lap. “You do know that Graham is bi, don’t you?”

Thorin raised an eyebrow in confusion. “By… what?”

“ _Bisexual_ , Thorin.”

Oh.

All of a sudden, Thorin understood Bilbo’s reaction… Graham had off-handedly mentioned an ex-girlfriend and it had never once occurred to Thorin that he might also be interested in men. But he was sure Bilbo was misunderstanding what had happened. Graham hadn’t asked him out for coffee or for a meal… for anything that could be misconstrued as a date. This wasn’t like the woman in the supermarket. He was certain… but then, he hadn’t picked up on the fact that the woman was interested in him…

“Was he flirting with you?” Bilbo asked, his voice dangerously quiet.

Thorin stared at Bilbo, opening his mouth to reply, but not quite managing it.

Bilbo rolled his eyes. “Fuck it, you wouldn’t know, would you?”

The words were harsh and cut like barbs into Thorin’s chest. He knew he was socially awkward and generally inept at basic communication. He knew he didn’t understand a lot of things and he often got things wrong… But Bilbo was never the one to point this out. Bilbo had never made fun of him or made him feel worse about his lack of social awareness. Until now.

“Bilbo,” Thorin said, feeling his voice tremble in his throat, and suddenly his eyes were stinging. “I… I’m sorry… I didn’t realise…”

“But how could you be that dense, Thorin?”

Thorin staggered up out of his chair, as if Bilbo had struck him. He needed to leave. He needed to go before he and Bilbo did some irreparable damage to their relationship.

“I… I have to…”

Eyes burning, Thorin stumbled out of Bilbo’s room, with Dain whining and nudging at his hand. Coming to the nurses’ station, Thorin avoided Rosie’s questioning gaze.

“Can… Can I sign out, please?” he said, letting Dain snuffle at his fingers.

“Thorin?” Rosie looked to Bilbo’s room. “What’s wrong?”

“I just… I need to sign out,” Thorin repeated, trying not to grind his teeth.

“But Dis won’t be here to pick you up for another twenty minutes.”

“Then I’ll wait downstairs.”

Rosie was scrutinising him, both hands on her hips, showing she wasn’t going to let him go without a fight. He was actually about to start pleading with her when –

“Hello, mate!”

The universe hated him. It actually fucking despised him. Graham appeared at his side, and his face instantly fell.

“Thorin? What’s happened?”

He reached out a hand to Thorin’s shoulder, but Thorin flinched away. “Don’t.”

“Okay, okay,” Graham said, lifting his hand up in a pacifying gesture. He glanced at Rosie, as if seeking an explanation, but the nurse only returned a calculating look, her eyes moving from him to Thorin.

“I… I can’t go running with you this week,” Thorin said, his throat feeling like it was closing up.

“That’s fine,” Graham said carefully. “… Do you mind if I ask why?”

Thorin desperately searched for the right words. He had no idea how to dig himself out of this situation. He only seemed to be able to dig himself deeper.

“I have… I have a boyfriend,” Thorin said, struggling with this unfamiliar word. He wasn’t sure what else he should call Bilbo. They had never discussed it. He just hoped it was enough for Graham to understand so he could leave… and curl up in the first hole he found.

Graham raised his eyebrows. “Oh, right… Shit, well, I missed that one.”

At first Thorin thought Graham hadn’t realised he was in a relationship, but then it occurred to him that Graham very probably meant he hadn’t realised Thorin was gay. But if he hadn’t known, did that mean he definitely wasn’t flirting with him?

“Wait…” Thorin could see the cogs whirring behind Graham’s eyes. “Your boyfriend’s here, isn’t he? He’s in the hospital?”

“Yes.”

Bilbo had appeared in his doorway and was directing a murderous look towards Graham, who flinched and then looked up towards the ceiling, as if having similar problems to Thorin with this fucker of a universe.

“Shit,” Graham muttered, before turning to face Bilbo. “Look, Bilbo, mate… I honestly had no idea.” He held his hands up, as if trying to placate him. “All the lads at support group have each other’s numbers… I really didn’t mean anything by it.”

Thorin wanted to throw up. His hands were shaking around Dain’s lead and he was struggling to draw in the deep breath he desperately needed. Rosie was moving around the desk to come to his side, but then Bilbo spoke.

“No?” he asked. Thorin had never heard so much venom in his voice.

Glancing at the ward doors, he prayed that someone would come through them soon so he didn’t have to be buzzed out. It may have been selfish, but his survival instincts were taking over and he just needed to leave. He didn’t care about discovering the reason behind the obvious bad blood between Bilbo and Graham. He just wanted to be somewhere he could breathe.

“No,” Graham insisted, and Thorin saw him start to rapidly flex his fingers, making Florence nudge at his thigh. “Jesus, how paranoid are you? You’re a smart bloke: I think you know damn well that Thorin isn’t my type!”

At that moment, a nurse came through the ward doors. And Thorin bolted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone hasn’t picked up on the obvious, my fancast for Graham is Rupert Graves and, yes, his name is a Sherlock joke. I just couldn’t help myself, I’m so sorry!
> 
> I also just want to say a ridiculously huge thank you to everyone who has ever supported this fic – it’s been almost a year since I posted the first chapter and I can’t believe the response it has received! Honestly, you guys are awesome, and you’ve all helped me through an awful lot!


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying to prove I can still put the comfort in Hurt/Comfort! 
> 
> Also, Edinburgh calling…

Fight or flight: the most innate reflex in human nature. All his life, Thorin had been a fighter. From charging headfirst into playground frays to leading his men across wastelands of war, he had never been one to flee from a fight.

Yet, Thorin now found himself bursting through the ward’s doors – almost flooring the bewildered nurse in the process – and leaping down the stairs two at a time, his feet thudding heavily on the grey linoleum. He had vetoed the lift on the grounds that he needed to move: he needed to be the one putting a physical distance between himself and the ward, and he didn’t want to be trapped between four silver walls whilst a riot raged in his head.

After two flights of stairs, Thorin skidded to a halt, finding he had no breath left in him for a further descent. Exhaling shakily, he slumped down onto the bottom step behind him, legs sprawled out, hands falling limply into his lap. Dain had kept pace with him the whole way, but now the Labrador was panting furiously, and Thorin felt a pang of guilt for dragging him down all those stairs.

Dain, however, seemed just as determined to carry out his duty, and he pawed at Thorin’s knee, licking his hands, trying to console him. Thorin usually reacted well to Dain’s attentions when he was upset, but at that moment, the Labrador’s nose snuffling at his hands and his fur rubbing against his arms was too much: he needed some space, to breathe, to think, to piece himself back together.

“Dain, please,” Thorin said, feeling weary, pushing the Labrador away from him as gently as he could. “Just sit for me… Sit.” He gave the command as firmly as his trembling voice could manage.

Dain obeyed instantly and sat himself down in front of Thorin, leaving some space between them, although he was still watching him intently, his head tilted… as if he was trying to fathom why his human companions seemed so intent on causing pain to one another.

Thorin attempted to draw in a deep breath, rubbing a shaking hand over his beard. The feelings of nausea had left him, and now he was just so… frustrated, angry, overwhelmed. Dis had told him he always felt things so deeply. Sitting there, his insides throbbing with this excess of emotion, he sincerely wished she hadn’t been right. He wished he couldn’t feel anything at all.

The tears were still prickling the corners of his eyes, but he reached up to scrub them away. He had run. For the first time in his life, he had run away… like a coward. He couldn’t cope with not understanding, with the impending crossfire he was about to be caught right in the middle of, and, more than that, he had been afraid... of doing something stupid, of saying the wrong thing and making everything worse.

This didn’t change the fact that he had left Bilbo there on the cusp of what threatened to be a very vicious argument. Two nights ago he had been terrified, screaming Bibo’s name, beside himself with the thought that he couldn’t help him, couldn’t be with him… But now he had left him in harm’s way, open to attack. Bilbo had hurt him. His words were still wedged like spikes between Thorin’s ribs and they wrenched upwards every time he remembered them. But maybe Bilbo had lashed out because, for whatever reason, he himself was hurting? And Thorin had left him to face Graham on his own. His fingers curled into fists. He was an idiot. Stupid. Selfish. Coward.

Thorin eyed up the white expanse of wall on his left. All of a sudden, the temptation was too great. It was hardly a conscious decision, but the act seemed to promise some immediate gratification, some sort of release for his anger and frustration. And so Thorin placed his hands flat on the wall in front of him and promptly smacked his head into it.

Dain’s bark was short and sharp, and Thorin straightened up immediately, his forehead stinging. The Labrador lurched forward and pawed at his chest, and if Thorin didn’t know any better, he’d say Dain was looking at him very sternly, his bark having been a clear reprimand. And Dain didn’t stop there. He was suddenly scrambling in between Thorin and the wall, wedging himself in at Thorin’s side until he shuffled over to accommodate him there.

“Okay,” Thorin sighed, stroking Dain’s head. “I get it, I won’t do it again, promise.”

Thorin knew Dain was trained to respond when his partner demonstrated any self-destructive behaviour, and he had done his job admirably. Rubbing his forehead, Thorin reached into his jeans pocket with his other hand and fed Dain a handful of treats. The Labrador gobbled them up and then returned to resting his head on Thorin’s knee, dark brown eyes gazing up at him watchfully.

Footsteps sounded on the stairs above Thorin’s head.

Heart thumping against his ribcage, he twisted himself around, a strange mixture of hope and fear blossoming in his gut. Rosie appeared at the top of the stairs carrying two steaming take-out cups.

“Hey,” she said quietly, slowing her step as she approached Thorin.

Thorin didn’t quite manage any kind of verbal reply, although he dipped his head as she carefully lowered herself onto the step next to him.

“Thought you might need this,” she smiled, handing him one of the cups, before adding: “Don’t worry, it’s Twinings – I bring my own stash into work.”

Smiling weakly in response, Thorin wrapped his hands around the cup, soaking in its warmth through his fingers, which had finally stopped shaking.

“Is Bilbo alright?” he asked, his voice smaller than he had expected.

Rosie blew on her tea. “Dr. Grey is talking him round.”

Thorin noted that this was a rather cryptic answer, and not the clear cut ‘yes’ or ‘no’ he was looking for. “But he didn’t…?” he trailed off, not sure what he was really about to ask.

“Try to beat the living shit out of Graham?” Rosie asked, with a knowing smile. “No… We intervened well before it got to that.”

Thorin nodded, turning away from the nurse, choosing instead to peer out of the wall length window in front of him which looked onto the hospital’s car park. He took a tentative sip of his tea as he watched an ambulance, silent and without its usual blue light fanfare, idly pull into a space in front of the main entrance.

They sat there for a long time, sipping their tea, not speaking, although Thorin was glad of Rosie’s company. Dain was studying him with less concern now, although he stayed in his spot, separating Thorin from the wall. Thorin had no desire to hit the wall again – with any part of his body – and the anger had slowly petered out of his system, leaving only an exhausted sense of incomprehension, a desperation to understand what had gone wrong that evening.

“You weren’t the first,” Rosie said suddenly, and Thorin glanced across at her, frowning. “To take a shine to Bilbo,” she elaborated, lowering her cup of tea.

Thorin slowly turned to her, but didn’t reply, waiting for her to explain.

“When Graham came to us last September… Well, he was completely besotted with Bilbo within a matter of weeks.”

Something unpleasant was stirring in Thorin’s chest, something sharp and full of bristles. This was what Graham had meant when he pointed out that Thorin wasn’t his type.

“This was before Ori was moved from the ICU,” Rosie continued. “So it was just Bifur and Bilbo knocking around together, and Graham became part of their group fairly easily. You know Bilbo is friendly with everyone but he genuinely liked Graham… just not in the same way. He wasn’t interested in anyone back then.”

Rosie grinned slyly over at him, indicating how much things had changed, and Thorin felt the colour rise in his cheeks.

“Bilbo doesn’t miss a trick, so he knew Graham fancied him… He kept trying to drop subtle hints that his feelings weren’t reciprocated, but I guess Graham was a bit too far gone to pick up on them.”

Thorin shifted on the step, feeling a creeping sense of dread seeping in with the bristles already stirring in his stomach. “What happened?”

“We knew what was going on, and Dr. Grey offered to intervene on Bilbo’s behalf… But Bilbo didn’t think that would be fair to Graham – he thought it’d be better coming from him.”

“So Bilbo told him?” Thorin asked, the dread only growing stronger.

Rosie paused, flexing her fingers around her cup before answering: “Unfortunately, Graham made a pretty, er, enthusiastic pass at him before he got a chance.”

Thorin swallowed, trying to quell the anger curling amongst the spikes in his stomach as he pictured Graham making his unwanted advances. He scratched behind Dain’s ears. “Did Graham hurt him?” he said, trying not to grit his teeth.

“No, no, he wasn’t violent,” Rosie replied quickly, but there was a troubled look in her soft, green eyes. “But when Bilbo pushed him away, it sent a pretty clear message… and he didn’t take the rejection very well. He made some unsavoury comments about Bilbo’s past and its… _impact_ on a certain part of his anatomy.”

Thorin may have needed many things spelling out to him, but this time he could read between the lines. He was glad Rosie hadn’t relayed Graham’s comments verbatim. The wall at his side wouldn’t have survived it. Nevertheless, he could still see that Graham had tried to hurt Bilbo because his rejection had hurt him. And then tonight Bilbo had tried to hurt Thorin because he was hurting. Round and round the cycle of hurt went: a pass the parcel of human pain, carrying on and on indeterminately. But Thorin decided he wasn’t going to be the one to continue the cycle. As much as the protective, jealous side of him would take great satisfaction in knocking out a few of Graham’s teeth, it would achieve very little. Equally, hurting Bilbo in return would be both a poisonous and pointless act.

“I think Bilbo was under the impression that Graham knew exactly who you were and he was chatting you up as some sort of act of revenge,” Rosie explained quietly.

Thorin turned this over in his mind, brow furrowed in confusion. “But… Graham didn’t know,” he said slowly. “He didn’t even realise I was gay.”

“I know,” Rosie replied. “I’m not saying Bilbo’s thinking was rational… In fact, I think Bilbo himself knew it wasn’t a rational process of thought, and nothing scares him more, after years and years of being logical and strategic, than irrational thinking.”

“So… you don’t think Graham was flirting with me?” Thorin asked, after a pause, trying to keep up with the conclusions Rosie was guiding him towards.

“No, I don’t,” the nurse said, draining her cup then pushing a few curly strands of red hair behind her ears. “I think tonight was just a pretty unfortunate coincidence… The universe trying to keep us all on our toes.”

Thorin smiled weakly at that, before staring into the dregs of his own cup. “So… What should I do now?” He hoped the question wasn’t really as pitiful as it sounded in his own head.

“You know, when you came along, we were worried that history might be repeating itself,” Rosie said carefully. “But Bilbo reassured us that he was madly in love with you, and no intervention was necessary.”

With an uncomfortable cough, Thorin turned to Rosie, certain the nurse was determined to make him blush. “He… He told you that?” There was a warm, giddy feeling slowly melting the spikes in his stomach.

“Oh yes. He was downright smitten.” Rosie nudged his shoulder gently, flashing him a wicked grin. “And both of you have been insufferable this summer.”

Thorin managed to smile despite the burning heat in his cheeks. He eyed the empty cup in his hands, trying to figure out the implications of Rosie’s words. “So Bilbo will want to see me? He… He won’t still be angry?”

“He’ll want to see you,” Rosie confirmed, and then she let out a soft sigh. “Thorin… if you’d made any friends tonight, regardless of who they were, Bilbo would have still been a little jealous. He gets frustrated because he can’t experience the outside world with you. He wants you to be happy, but he’s worried he won’t always be part of that happiness.”

Thorin’s heart was suddenly swallowed by an unexpected ache. “He thinks I’m going to leave him?”

Rosie nodded slowly.

“I… I’m not,” Thorin stuttered out, chest feeling tight. “I won’t… I… I couldn’t…”

“I know,” Rosie replied gently. “But Bilbo might need some reassurance from time to time, so how about we go back upstairs so you can tell him that?”

His heart beginning a staccato rhythm in anticipation, Thorin reached for Dain’s lead. “Okay.”

They both staggered to their feet and then together they began their steady ascent back up to the ward.

“So… that patch of red on your forehead?” Rosie asked, as they rounded the corner onto the next flight of steps.

Thorin hastily tugged his beanie down past his ears. “I smacked my head against the wall.”

“Understandable… Any dizziness, nausea, vomiting, loss of consciousness or sight?”

“No.”

“Okay.”

“… Please don’t tell anyone.”

“Not a word.”

 

…

 

When Thorin re-entered the ward with Rosie, all the staff quickly turned back to their respective tasks with comic swiftness. He was surprised there wasn’t any nonchalant whistling. Clutching Dain’s lead even tighter, Thorin found his eyes darting about the ward, but Graham was nowhere in sight.

“Oh, Thorin,” Poppy greeted him as he passed the nurses’ station. “Radagast has taken Dis down to the hospital café… She said you should take your time.”

Trying not to cringe at the image of Radagast and his sister plotting over a coffee, Thorin nodded his thanks, before looking to Bilbo’s room.

“If you need anything, just give me a shout,” Rosie whispered, and Thorin felt her lightly touch his arm.

Inhaling deeply, Thorin moved towards Bilbo’s room, trying to make his stride look purposeful. As soon as he entered, Bilbo looked up, and it made him stop. The younger man was huddled in the middle of his bed, knees pushed into his chest, and his flushed face was tear-stained. Sweat was beading on his brow and curls of honey-coloured hair were sticking to his forehead.

Thorin’s shoulders sank as he came to Bilbo’s side. Rosie had told him Bilbo needed reassurance, and Thorin knew simply taking a seat and waiting would hardly be helpful. Instead, he urged Dain to sit and dropped his lead. With both hands free he poured some more water into the half-full glass on the bedside table.

“Here,” he murmured, perching next to Bilbo on the bed, holding the glass out for him.

Thorin knew Bilbo had been watching all of his movements with a wary, questioning expression, but still he slowly lowered his knees and reached out to take the water. His hands were trembling as he moved the cup to his lips and the wariness was suddenly replaced with frustration. Acting on impulse, Thorin steadied the cup with his own hand, his fingers gently closing over Bilbo’s. Grey-green eyes flicked up at him, but after a pause, Bilbo still gulped down the water. Thorin tentatively moved his other hand to Bilbo’s back, rubbing a few slow circles into the soft fabric of the hoodie. Bilbo drained the cup and brought it down into his lap, and Thorin’s hand fell away.

“I’m sorry,” Bilbo whispered, his voice strained, raspy despite the water he had just drunk. “Thorin, I’m so sorry…”

“Shhh,” Thorin soothed, still rubbing Bilbo’s back. “It’s alright.”

“It’s not.” Bilbo’s eyes were filling with water again, his nose beginning to run. “Those awful things I said… I… I didn’t mean them… I’m sorry… I’m… s-sorry…”

“I know,” Thorin said softly, reaching up to brush a few sweaty strands of hair away from Bilbo’s forehead.

“If… If you need some space,” Bilbo continued, sniffling. “If you need s-some time… to think about things… I… I understand.”

Thorin’s heart crumpled. As Rosie predicted, Bilbo thought he was going to leave him. Fighting back his own tears, Thorin reached out and took Bilbo’s hand.

“Bilbo,” he murmured. “I’m not going anywhere.” And then, because he knew Bilbo needed to hear it: “I forgive you.”

Bilbo looked up from their joined hands with watery eyes. “Why?”

The ache was spreading out from Thorin’s chest, numbing his arms, numbing his hand in Bilbo’s. He wasn’t sure whether Bilbo was asking why he wasn’t going anywhere or why he was forgiving him, but it didn’t matter, the answer was the same: “Because I love you.”

Bilbo screwed up his eyes, his expression pained. “I told you… you shouldn’t,” he said, his gaze falling into his lap.

“And I told you…” Thorin lifted his hand to Bilbo’s cheek, guiding the younger man to look at him. “That I don’t give a fuck whether you think I should or I shouldn’t, I do.”

Thorin had a fool’s hope that this comment would raise a smile, but Bilbo only stared at him and the helpless look in his eyes was still asking ‘Why?’. Now was the time for Thorin to provide an eloquent answer to this question. Now was the time for words that really meant something, that would help Bilbo see himself the way Thorin saw him. He had been rehearsing something similar, in the early hours of the morning when he couldn’t sleep; for some inexplicable reason, the exercise helped ease his feelings of loneliness that plagued him when he was missing Bilbo the most. He hadn’t quite imagined reciting anything to Bilbo himself, but he knew now was the moment to do it. In short, he had better not fuck this up, and this thought sent his heart pounding in his chest.

Rubbing his thumb over Bilbo’s cheek, he leaned their foreheads together. “And I love you, Bilbo Baggins, because you are definitely the cleverest man I have ever known… because you understand me probably more than I understand myself…” Thorin drew in a shaking breath. “Because you are kind and caring and from the moment we met you’ve been looking after me… because you forgave me when I lost my temper… And because, even though you’re all snotty and crying…” Thorin rubbed his nose against Bilbo’s red and runny one. “You’re still the most beautiful person on this planet.”

Drawing away, Thorin could feel his heart in his throat, but Bilbo was finally smiling up at him, his eyes wonderfully crinkled, though still spilling with tears.

“Thorin, you-you’re only making… me cry more, y-you bastard!”

Bilbo pulled him into a kiss, and Thorin suspected he was rubbing his snotty nose into his face on purpose, but he didn’t care. He kissed back with vigour, arms pulling Bilbo into his chest, with no intentions of letting go.

After several blissful moments, Bilbo pulled away and reached behind Thorin to his bedside table for a tissue. He blew his nose quite thoroughly and then rested his head back on Thorin’s chest.

“Where did all that come from?” he asked quietly, stroking Thorin’s thumb with his finger.

“Oh… I, er, I’ve been practising,” Thorin admitted, glad Bilbo couldn’t see him blushing.

Bilbo gave a soft chuckle. “I’m sorry I don’t have anything prepared… But I love you too… I really, really do love you.”

Thorin pulled Bilbo closer and they adjusted their positon slightly, leaning over into the pillows.

“I wish you could stay the night,” Bilbo said, sounding both sleepy and disappointed. “I miss snuggling.”

Ignoring the slow, steady aching of his heart, Thorin offered: “We could… er, _snuggle_ , now?” He was sure this was the first time he had ever used that word. “If it won’t make your temperature worse?”

“Oh, sod my temperature,” Bilbo grinned, before moving over and pulling Thorin, quite forcefully, further onto the bed.

Thorin quickly slipped off his shoes, making sure they missed Dain’s curled up, furry form as they dropped with dual thuds to the floor. He then lay down next to Bilbo, who tucked his head back under his chin, one hand closing over his t-shirt. Thorin wrapped an arm around Bilbo’s waist and tenderly kissed his forehead, nudging a few more curly strands of hair away with his nose.

They lay together for a long time, content in silence, their breathing falling into an even rhythm, and Thorin began to slowly process everything that had occurred that evening. It was something unexpected, something he hadn’t registered at all in the aftermath, which made him break the quiet.

“Am I your boyfriend?” Thorin asked quietly, peering down at Bilbo.

He felt Bilbo’s laugh vibrate against his chest and the younger man lifted his head. “Are you asking if I object to the term?”

“Erm… Yes?” Thorin mumbled.  

“Well, we really don’t need to label our relationship if you don’t want to… But no, I don’t mind. Would you like to be my boyfriend?”

Thorin smiled. “Yes.”

“Then that’s sorted,” Bilbo said, reaching up to peck Thorin on the lips. “Any other questions?”

“So… You’re my boyfriend?” Thorin asked, finding he just enjoyed saying it, like a three-year-old having just learnt a new word.

“If you’ll have me,” Bilbo replied, kissing Thorin again.

“Hmmm,” Thorin hummed in approval, pulling Bilbo closer to his chest and deepening the kiss.

 

…

 

“It’s gonna be the quarter-mill.”

“Nuh-uh, I bet it’s in Box 9.”

“You’re just buying into superstition, Kee… Watch, it’ll be in there.”

“That’s mean, Fili! She needs the money to buy that house for her mum.”

“Yeah, well, she’ll have to settle for a caravan in Cleckheaton.”

Thorin kept his eyes on the television whilst he listened to his niece and nephew bicker about the amount in the red box about to be opened. It was a warm, lazy August afternoon, and after a morning spent out in the garden – which involved yoga, archery, and a penalty shoot-out, amongst other things - they had all gathered in the living room for some easy-watching daytime telly to wind down, which today meant re-runs of ‘Deal or No Deal’.

Dain let out a long yawn before settling his head back down on Thorin’s knee. Thorin affectionately scratched the Labrador behind his ears as he shuffled his body into a more comfortable position on the sofa. He was feeling sleepy himself, but he would have to make sure he rallied, ready for the evening visiting hours. Thorin had spoken to Dr. Grey not long ago and the doctor had assured him that Bilbo’s temperature had, thankfully, dropped considerably since yesterday and he was feeling much better.

“Five thousand! She’ll get a good offer from the Banker now.”

“Okay, the quarter-mill is definitely in Box 17… That lady with the scary cardigan is looking shifty. She knows.”

Fili and Kili’s gameshow commentary was cut short when the house phone on the mantelpiece started ringing. Thorin and Dain looked up in unison, but nobody else moved: Fili and Kili were still glued to the television, and so Dis, who had been dosing in the armchair in the corner, unfolded her legs with a sigh.

“Don’t all jump at once!” she frowned, standing to retrieve the phone, then holding it to her ear. “Dis Oakenshield speaking… Oh, hello, Balin!”

Thorin didn’t miss the way his sister’s eyes flickered to him as she turned and walked away into the kitchen with the phone. Her enthusiastic tone carried back through into the living room, but Thorin couldn’t make out the words. Straightening up against the sofa, his eyes moved to focus on the blank spot of wall in front of him.

“Uncle?” Fili said quietly, peering up at him from her place on the floor. “Balin rings every couple of months just to check in, see how we’re doing: it’s nothing to worry about.”

Nodding slowly, Thorin turned back to the television, but his heart was pounding. When he was first admitted to Ered Luin, he had made Dis promise not to tell their Scottish cousins, Balin and Dwalin, what had happened to him. He didn’t want them to know. In the first few weeks he had been particularly aggressive any time mention was made of contacting the brothers in Edinburgh, and so Dis had eventually let it drop.

Initially, Thorin wasn’t sure why he didn’t want his family knowing, why he was determined for them to never find out about his injuries. After months of reflection and learning to understand his own thought processes, Thorin realised he had been ashamed. He had been ashamed of the grey shell of a man he had become, and his pride wouldn’t allow anyone else to see him in such a state. Early on, Dis had tried to persuade him that Balin and Dwalin were family and they would never think any less of him, but still Thorin had refused. Sometimes he wondered if he had been invalided back from Afghanistan with only broken bones, and not a broken mind, his decision would have been the same.

But there was more to it than that.

Although Thorin was fairly certain Balin would be happy to know that, for whatever reason, he was back in the country, he wasn’t so sure Dwalin would feel the same. Dwalin, whom he had once called his best friend, but who had felt so unutterably betrayed when Thorin moved away to Germany. Dwalin had never forgiven him for leaving, for shutting himself off from his family and his family’s sorrow in his dingy Berlin flat. It was then that Thorin realised, quite belatedly, that he had run away before... He hadn't always been a fighter when it came to his personal life. He also knew, by shutting his best friend out once again, he had only made things worse. Dwalin would be livid if he found out Thorin had been back in the country for five months and hadn’t told him.

“Fili, love, can you turn that off for a sec?”

Dis had appeared in the living room and Thorin could see she was fighting to keep the neutral expression on her face as she lowered herself back into the armchair still clutching the phone. Fili quickly grabbed the remote and turned the television off, turning to face her mother.

“Balin has invited us up to Edinburgh for a long weekend,” Dis explained carefully, her eyes not leaving Thorin.

“Yes!” Kili reacted instantly, punching the air. “We haven’t seen Balin and Dwalin for ages!” His triumph faltered, however, as he sneaked a glance at his uncle, sitting next to him on the sofa. “But Uncle Thorin can come too, can’t he, Mum? He can take Dain to Scotland?”

Dis was still looking intently at him, and Thorin could feel a coil winding tighter in his chest. He knew she was trying to figure out his answer, but at that moment, he wasn’t sure of it himself.

“I… I have appointments,” Thorin stammered, hand reaching for Dain.

He was beginning to contemplate the various pitfalls of staying in the house on his own with Dain for the weekend, when Dis finally spoke: “I know… Which is why I was thinking we should invite them down to stay with us for a few days?”

Thorin’s stomach was trying to crawl into his windpipe and he drew in a deep, shuddering breath. Dain instinctively moved himself into his lap, nudging into his chest. Managing to keep up a steadier than anticipated rhythm of breaths, Thorin decided now was not a day for flight. He had run away once already this week. He wouldn’t do it again. Yes, he was fucking terrified. Part of him would happily spend the rest of his life avoiding Balin and Dwalin and putting off this inevitable family reunion… But he knew he had to be brave. He could tell, despite her practiced mask of indifference, that this was something Dis desperately wanted. He knew Fili and Kili wanted this too.

“You don’t have to decide now, Uncle,” Fili prompted gently. “You’ve got plenty of time to think about it.”

Thorin shook his head. “It… It’s alright… I…” He inhaled another deep breath. “I want you to invite them.”

Fili and Kili were sporting matching grins as they turned to their mother, who was studying Thorin cautiously, her gaze questioning.

“You can tell Balin,” Thorin added, understanding what she was trying to determine. “You can tell them I’m here… Why I’m here.”

He would rather Dis give their cousins plenty of warning than have them ruck up only to find Thorin sitting there in the living room. Dwalin would probably head-butt him… Having said that, there was a chance that even being made aware beforehand, he still might. Thorin tried not to think about that.

“Is it okay if I ring back now?” Dis asked. “Would you like me to make the call in the kitchen?”

Thorin knew his sister was intimating that he didn’t have to listen to the details of his hospitalisation being relayed, but part of him, one he couldn’t put a name to, wanted to be present for the call. “I don’t mind.”

Dis gave him a small smile and then speed-dialled Balin’s number, lifting the phone back to her ear. Thorin’s heartbeat sounded like an ominous drumroll.

“Hello again, Balin,” Dis began cheerfully. “Yes, I know, it was a quick council meeting…”

Something tugged at Thorin’s thrumming heart: it was a family in joke, calling discussions ‘council meetings’ when decisions needed to be made and everyone wanted to put in their two cents. She had obviously told Balin a council meeting would need to be held over their visit to Scotland. She just hadn’t told him who else had been present at the meeting.

“Balin, there’s something I need to tell you.”

Thorin’s stomach knotted itself.

“No, no, they’re both fine… Balin, it’s Thorin. He was invalided back from Afghanistan a few months ago… He’s been in hospital for a while, but now he’s back living with us just while he, er, recuperates.”

Thorin could hear Balin’s buzz on the other end of the phone and watched as Dis listened intently.

“No… No, I understand that… I know… Yes, I know, but it was a difficult situation… No, not too serious… Well, yes... His head... No, no, nothing like that...”

Dis flashed him a look of apology, but Thorin shook his head, showing it wasn’t necessary. He suspected Dis was holding back and she would be contacting Balin again to fill him in with a few more details when her brother wasn’t sitting right in front of her… Maybe he should have let her make the call in the kitchen.

“His recovery is going very well… Yes, yes, he would like to see both of you… He –”

Dis stopped when some odd scratching sounded on the other end of the line, followed by a lower, louder buzz.

“Dwalin,” Dis said, her voice suddenly losing its cheerfulness. Thorin stiffened as his sister’s eyes slowly moved back to him. “No, I’m afraid he’s out at the moment.”

Dwalin wanted to talk to him. Of course he did. From the way Dis was discreetly holding the receiver a little further away from her ear, he gathered that Dwalin was shouting.

“Alright, Dwalin, you’ve said your piece… Now, if you could please hand the phone back to Balin so the grown-ups can talk?”

Thorin appreciated Dis’ condescension. She was one of the few people on the planet who wasn’t terrified of Dwalin. She always put him in his place.

“Yes, hello, Balin,” Dis spoke again, sounding relieved. “Now, as I was about to say, before being so rudely interrupted… Under the circumstances, we wondered if you and Dwalin would like to come down and stay with us for a few days instead?”

Thorin drew in a breath and found he was holding it.

“Yes… Yes, that would be lovely… Alright… And when were you thinking? … Oh? Oh, right… No, of course, I’m sure we can manage that… Okay, yes, I’ll let him know… Thank you, Balin… Alright… See you soon, bye!”

Dis hung up and slowly lowered the phone. Thorin could feel Fili and Kili practically vibrating with anticipation next to him.

“They’re driving down the day after tomorrow.”

Thorin tried not to choke. He hadn’t expected this all to be happening so soon… Well, he hadn’t expected this to be happening at all. But, in two days’ time, he was going to have to confront his family, and his decision to keep the past five months a secret from them. He suspected Balin and Dwalin’s swift arrival indicated just how displeased they were at having been kept in the dark. But now the deed was done. With his cousins coming to him, there was little room for flight. He just hoped that neither of them would pick too big a fight with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, are we all ready for the Scottish invasion? 
> 
> Guys, the response to the last chapter was just out of his world – and thank you so much for your feedback on Graham. To quote my dear friend, Berunien, I “accidentally OC’d”, but I’m so pleased you’ve enjoyed his addition to the story and I promise the loose ends regarding where Thorin and Graham stand now and the issue of Faramir’s support group will be tied up in future chapters!


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look who’s updating again! Also, guys, it’s pronounced Coe-burn… honest! 
> 
> Warning: Mentions of underage drinking. This chapter also features a panic attack after the second section break. If anyone would like a trigger-free summary, please do let me know in a comment.

“Evening, Thorin!”

Thorin smiled as Poppy handed him a pen so that he could sign in. He switched Dain’s lead to the other hand and leaned over the nurses’ station to fill in his visitor badge.

“All okay?” he asked quietly, as he scribbled in his details.

“Oh, yes, he’s had a really good afternoon. Another good night’s sleep and he’ll be right as rain tomorrow!”

Thorin lifted his eyes from the badge to study Poppy, and something twitched in the nurse’s expression. She may not be as dry as Rosie, but today Poppy’s demeanour was bordering on Radagast levels of optimism… and Thorin could tell something was wrong.

“Poppy,” Thorin said carefully, setting down the pen.

And that’s when he heard it: Graham’s laughter. Coming from Bilbo’s room.

His heart using his ribcage like a punching bag, Thorin reared away from the desk and followed the sound, ignoring Poppy’s warning (“Thorin!”) and marching into the room.

Graham was sitting at Bilbo’s bedside, Florence at his feet, and Thorin noted with animosity that the older man had taken the seat on the right side of the bed – Thorin’s usual chair, where he had always sat, even before he was discharged. He stopped before he reached the end of the bed, squaring his shoulders, and his black gaze moved from Graham to Bilbo, who was propped against his pillows, looking completely unfazed by Thorin’s threatening stance.

“Thorin,” Bilbo said calmly. “It’s alright, I promise.”

Thorin didn’t move and his narrowed eyes slipped back to Graham, who immediately raised his hands in surrender.

“Seriously, mate, I come in peace,” he said, attempting a chuckle, though it sounded odd. At least Thorin knew his intimidation was working.

“So you can stop with your territorial display and come and sit down,” Bilbo prompted, with a knowing smile.

Colour flooded Thorin’s cheeks as he moved around the bed, urging Dain with him: the Labrador had been giving Florence a long, hard stare as the golden retriever pulled herself up off the floor, as if preparing to come to her partner’s aid. Taking a seat, at the _wrong_ side of the bed, Thorin reached for Bilbo’s hand. He knew he was being petty – and Bilbo had just called him out on it – but he couldn’t quite resist the gesture. He turned his body away from Graham, trying to ignore his presence, although he knew Graham was watching them.

“How are you feeling?” he murmured, gently rubbing his thumb over Bilbo’s.

“Much better,” Bilbo replied, his voice equally quiet. “My head’s still a bit achy, but my temperature’s back to normal.”

Thorin hummed in response, and then, reluctantly, he straightened up, turning his gaze back to Graham, who was sitting there patiently with a small smile. The anger Thorin had felt when he first entered the room had abated and was now replaced with confusion. He knew that if Bilbo didn’t want him there, Graham would have no doubt been carted off with a bloodied nose… which meant that Bilbo _did_ want him there. Thorin just had no idea why.

“Graham stopped by after his session,” Bilbo explained, clearly sensing Thorin’s bemusement. “We’ve just been having a bit of a catch-up.”

“Okay,” Thorin said slowly, with more edge than an axe.

“Look, Thorin, I’m really sorry about what happened yesterday,” Graham began.

Thorin stiffened. It’s not me you should be apologising to, he thought, but then Bilbo squeezed his hand in reassurance and he let his shoulders sink slightly.

“I don’t want you to stop coming to Faramir’s support group because of me,” Graham continued. “The group’s done me the world of good, and it’s not fair for you to miss out on that… I really want you to be there next Tuesday and, well, I was hoping we could start again?”

Thorin returned a look of scrutiny, but Graham’s expression was open and honest, full of genuine contrition. He could discern no ulterior motives. Of course, he had been planning on avoiding the support group – knowing he had a very real reason for doing so – but then he knew Dr. Grey would grouse and probably try bully him into some other form of group therapy… where the company might not be as warm and welcoming, the setup not as casual.

Thorin stared across the bed at Graham. “Have you said sorry to Bilbo?”

Graham opened his mouth to reply, but Bilbo spoke first: “Yes, he has, more than enough times… And I’ve accepted his apology.”

Thorin nodded, exhaling slowly. As much as he wanted to fight both Bilbo and Graham on this, he knew bearing a grudge would get them nowhere. If he had learned anything this year, it was that there was more to life. Bilbo had forgiven Graham, just as he had forgiven Bilbo last night. The pass the parcel of pain was being stopped in its tracks, the ends knotted off with apologies and compassion. Once again, he wasn’t going to be the one to prevent this from happening.

“Alright,” Thorin agreed finally. “I’ll be at support group next Tuesday.”

Graham broke out into a massive grin. “Cheers, mate… It’ll be great to see you there. James and Myrtle should be back with us too. You’ll like James… He’s not quite as, er, obnoxious as the rest of the lads.”

Thorin knew this was code for ‘he’s a bit more like you’, but still he gave in and let himself smile.

“Right, don’t want to overstay my welcome,” Graham said, patting his knees and getting to his feet. “Need to get going anyway: Flo and I have got a yoga class at the gym. Well, I do the yoga; she just sits on the side and judges me.”

A sideways glance confirmed that Bilbo was smirking, but Thorin’s frown clearly said: “Don’t you dare tell him!” He was prepared to return to support group, but yoga with Graham was something he wasn’t quite ready for… Not just yet, anyway.

“Well, I just want to say best of luck to both of you,” Graham said, sounding almost shy. “And I’ll see you next week, Thorin.”

Graham suddenly leant across the bed and extended his hand. Thorin paused for a moment, but then reached out and shook it. He grunted his reply and Bilbo gave him a discreet nudge, so he said, louder: “See you next week.”

After nodding and saying goodbye to Bilbo, Graham collected Florence’s lead and left the room, Thorin staring after him. It was a little while before he turned back to Bilbo, who was now looking slightly sheepish.

“You could’ve warned me,” he said softly, trying his best not to sound too grumpy.

Bilbo leaned back into his pillows. “Well, I didn’t exactly get much warning either.”

Thorin studied him, a crease in his brow. “But… he didn’t upset you? He did apologise?” He knew Bilbo had said apologies had been made, but now it was just the two of them, he wanted to make sure.

“Oh yes, quite profusely,” Bilbo replied. “Something which, I suspect, has a lot to do with Gandalf. He had a front row seat when Graham came into my room… I think the nurses had bets on how long it’d take me to punch him.”

Thorin chuckled. “But you didn’t?”

“No,” Bilbo said, and Thorin detected the barest hint of regret in his tone. “We talked. It was… nice, I suppose. He’s changed a lot since I first knew him… He seems much happier these days, much calmer too.”

“So… you really don’t mind me seeing him at support group?”

“Of course not,” Bilbo said firmly. He lifted his and Thorin’s joined hands so he could press a tender kiss to his knuckles. “Thorin, I would never do that. I’m never going to stop you doing something that will help you get better.”

Thorin smiled at that, warmth blossoming in his chest. He leaned in to Bilbo then, kissing the younger man lightly on the lips, one hand gently brushing the back of his neck.

“Anyway, enough about this,” Bilbo sighed, as they leant their heads together. “How was your day? What did you get up to?”

Thorin immediately grew tense when he thought of Balin’s phone call… and Dwalin’s unheard tirade on the other end of the line.

“Thorin?” Bilbo whispered, drawing away so he could see him better. “What’s happened?”

Gaze dropping into his lap, Thorin tried not to hunch his shoulders. “My… my cousins are coming to visit… They’re coming down from Edinburgh on Friday.”

“Okay,” Bilbo replied softly. “Tell me about them?”

The question was gentle enough: not as invasive as Thorin had expected, although he knew Bilbo was trying to figure out what was bothering him.

“Balin, my older cousin, lectures at Edinburgh University,” Thorin replied, aware that he was skirting round the issue. “He’s a professor at their School of, er, Political Science, I think… Something to do with politics, anyway.”

Bilbo smiled. “Sounds like a man after my own heart.”

“I think you’d like him,” Thorin agreed, smiling at the idea of Balin and Bilbo discussing the ins and outs of academia.

“And your other cousin?”

Thorin tried not to grimace. “Dwalin… He’s a tattoo artist. Owns a shop in Cockburn Street.”

“You two don’t get on?” Bilbo asked quietly, brow furrowed.

Trying to ignore the angry ache in his heart, Thorin swallowed. “We used to… I spent pretty much every leave in the pub with him; he’d come down from Scotland every time I was back at home. And then…”

Bilbo twined their fingers back together.

“And then m-my dad died… and I… I moved to Germany… stopped coming back to Yorkshire on leave. I stayed away… and Dwalin hates me for it.”

“I’m sure he doesn’t hate you,” Bilbo said, smoothing his thumb over Thorin’s. “I think he’s missed you and he might not understand your reasons for leaving… He might be angry, but he won’t hate you… not really.”

Thorin sighed, begrudgingly admitting to himself that Bilbo’s words were comforting. “I hope you’re right,” he mumbled.

“They didn’t know you were back?” Bilbo asked, after a pause.

“No,” Thorin confirmed, unsurprised that Bilbo had figured this out. He also guessed he wouldn’t need to explain why. “Dis told Balin on the phone this afternoon, invited them down to stay with us.”

“Well, it might be a bit awkward at first, but I think you’ll be glad she did,” Bilbo said, sounding more assured than Thorin felt. “And, if you want, I don’t mind playing counsellor… This place is as good as any for family drama: Ori and his brothers have proven that.”

Thorin froze. Bilbo had found a way to idly propose meeting Balin and Dwalin, just as Thorin feared he might. And now he was torn.

“Balin and Dwalin…” Thorin’s voice sounded thick, and he coughed, colour reforming in his cheeks. “They, er, they don’t know… that I’m gay.”

“Okay,” Bilbo replied gently.

Thorin coughed again. “I… I should tell them.”

“Thorin, you should only do what you feel comfortable doing,” Bilbo said, shuffling closer to the edge of the bed. “It’s your decision whether or not you choose to come out to your cousins, nobody else’s.”

Thorin nodded, feeling his face heat even further. “I… I do want them to meet you.” He was aware that he was now looking quite bashful. “I want to introduce you as my boyfriend.”

And it was true: Thorin did want Balin and Dwalin to meet Bilbo. The jig was up now: they knew about his injuries and his hospitalisation, he wanted them to know about everything that had arrived with it. He wanted them to know about one of the best things to ever happen to him… He just hoped they could make it to the hospital before Dwalin thumped him.

“I’d like that,” Bilbo said, beaming. “But, again, it’s your decision, Thorin, and whatever you decide, you have my full support.”

The ache in Thorin’s chest was easing, and he wrapped an arm around Bilbo, pulling the younger man to him. “I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he whispered.

 

…

 

“Behold! The best bench in the whole park!”

Thorin stopped just before the crest of the hill to catch his breath. Hands on his knees, he hunched forward slightly, inhaling in short, ragged pants. He had grown used to not being able to breathe properly, the cause just usually wasn’t a bloody great big hill he’d been forced to climb by his inscrutable niece. Dain padded in front of him, panting heavily himself, and looked up into his face, trying to decide if his partner was in distress.

“I’m fine,” Thorin murmured, scratching behind Dain’s ears. _Just really, really unfit…_ He tried not to think about the prospect of running through the park with Graham and Florence.

“Uncle, come sit down,” Fili called from the bench.

Exhaling slowly, Thorin staggered the last few steps to the top of the hill and collapsed next to Fili with a groan. He was about to launch his list of complaints when he saw the view. The sky above them was a beautiful cerulean blue, with only a few large, white clouds migrating slowly towards the west. From this high rise, they could see down the valley towards Skipton. The grey, metropolitan mass of the city trickled out into a patchwork of green fields dotted with brown clusters of outlying towns and villages. In the distance, vast lengths of dry stone wall cut the green into rough squares; they snaked off up the opposing hills, disappearing into the horizon. It reminded Thorin a lot of the view from the hill he used to climb with Dis and Frerin near their old house, the one he had told Bilbo about when he had asked him where in the world he would like to be alone with him.

“Pretty cool, eh?” Fili asked, grinning across at her uncle.

“Just about worth the climb,” Thorin replied, leaning back against the bench.

Fili turned her attention back to the tub of salted caramel ice cream in her hands. She had insisted on stopping by the park’s café before they began their ascent. Thorin had refused her offer of ice cream on the basis that he wasn’t able to stomach much due to Balin and Dwalin’s impending visit – they’d be on their doorstep in less than twenty-four hours – and he had a sneaking suspicion that their arrival was the reason Fili had lured him out here.

It had started off innocently enough: Fili wandering into his room with a “Hey, Uncle, wanna go for a walk?”. Dis was working at the kitchen table with her laptop and Kili was spending the day with Sam, and Thorin thought the fresh air might do him good. This was his third visit to the park by their house: it was a vast, green space which never seemed crowded despite the school holidays and the majority of it, aside from the café and children’s play area, was reassuringly quiet. His first outing here had started off as a nervous affair, but when he wasn’t bothered by anyone and nothing went wrong, he had relaxed and had a good kick about with Kili whilst Dis and Fili sunned themselves close by.

However, this time, Thorin was sure Fili had an ulterior motive. His niece was currently nursing her ice cream the way one would nurse a pint, and he wondered if this was Fili’s alternative to Dutch courage. He sensed she had something she needed to talk about… he just wasn’t sure what it was, or if he could help.

“I was a dick when I was fifteen,” Fili stated finally, stabbing her plastic spoon into her ice cream, avoiding her uncle’s eye.

This wasn’t the opening line Thorin had been expecting and he let out a surprised laugh. “So was I,” he said, smiling. “I think everyone is.”

“Yeah, well, I was an especially massive dick,” Fili said, through a mouthful of ice cream.

Dain slumped down at Thorin’s feet and opened his mouth in a wide yawn. Thorin slowly turned to Fili. “Okay,” he murmured, waiting for her to explain further.

“So… I was like a proper cliché of teenage rebellion,” Fili admitted, keeping her gaze focused on her ice cream. “I stayed out late, skived school… decided getting a tattoo from this dodgy basement studio in town was a really good idea.”

Thorin nodded so Fili knew he was listening, though he wasn’t quite sure what she wanted him to say… Was she about to reveal a lapse? Fili had only been out with her friends during the day since he had moved in, so he wasn’t sure when this return to rebellion might have occurred.

“I drove Mum up the wall,” Fili continued, digging her spoon into the ice cream as far as it would go. “We argued all the time: lots of screaming at each other and slamming doors… like I said, I was a dick.”

This was all sounding very familiar to Thorin, and Fili was looking so forlorn and fed up with herself that he hoped Dis wouldn’t see his next words as a betrayal: “You know, your mum and your gran argued all the time too.”

Fili finally lifted her eyes to look at him. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Thorin replied, surprised he hadn’t told Fili sooner: all the parallels had been there. It was strange, he realised now, how similar the situations were. “Me and Uncle Frerin used to hide in my room like it was an air raid shelter. Your mum once slammed our kitchen door off its hinges.”

“You’re kidding?” Fili said, her blue eyes wide and bright.

“Okay, she will murder me for telling you that,” Thorin added quickly, not sure he liked the glint in Fili’s gaze. “So please don’t repeat it.”

“I won’t, promise,” Fili said, holding up her hands, the half-empty tub of ice cream balanced on her knees.

“Things got better when she started seeing Vili, your dad, and then…” Thorin trailed off.

“She got pregnant with me?” Fili supplied, her smile wry.

“That actually helped things even more,” Thorin insisted. “After the, er, initial shock… Your gran really loved you: she made sure you were well looked after and your mum was happy. They stopped fighting after you were born.”

Fili’s smile seemed sad now and the look in her eyes was distant. “I never knew… Shit, I wouldn’t have said half the things I did if I’d known.”

Thorin studied his niece with concern. He knew she was holding something back. “Fili?” he asked gently. “Is there… something you want to tell me?”

Drawing in a deep breath, Fili straightened up, placing her tub of ice cream on the bench next to her. “Okay… so, it was when I was half way through Year 10, well into my dickish phase… Me and Mum had this huge argument… and I basically told her I knew I’d ruined her life… I… Fuck, I told her she must wish I’d died in that car accident instead of Dad.”

“Fili,” Thorin whispered, his heart breaking for her. “You know neither of those things is true, don’t you?”

“Yeah, yeah, I, um, I got there eventually,” Fili said, but she still seemed distracted. “So, this argument ended with me grabbing a bag I’d already packed and storming out of the house… you know, clichéd to the letter, and I… got the next train up to Edinburgh.”

Oh. Suddenly everything clicked in Thorin’s mind. This _was_ something to do with his Scottish cousins.

“You went to Dwalin?” Thorin asked, knowing which brother Fili was more likely to have gone to for help.

“Yeah, rucked up on Cockburn Street in a bit of a state… Dwalin decided to close up and take me upstairs. He wanted to ring my mum straight away but I begged him not to… I kind of think he would’ve done anything I’d asked if it’d stop me crying. He was a bit freaked out.”

Thorin smiled sadly at that. He could just picture the disgruntled look on Dwalin’s face as he was confronted with a runaway Fili.

“Dwalin agreed to let me hang out in his flat for a little while and calm down before he made the call,” Fili continued, she then looked away again. “And I, er, kind of made myself at home.”

“Fili,” Thorin said, his tone low, indicating she wasn’t going to get away with euphemisms.

“I nicked a bottle of cider from the fridge… Dwalin finished closing up and came back to find me, er, already pretty tipsy. I hadn’t eaten all day and I’m a total lightweight. He tried to get the bottle from me… but I was being a dick, as we’ve already established, and kept dodging out of his way… So I’m dancing around his flat, having a great old fucking time, when Balin shows up because my mum’s rung him beside herself with worry.”

“And Balin found you drunk in Dwalin’s flat?” Thorin said grimly.

He could already finish the story for himself, but Fili made sure he got it: “Balin was pretty pissed off… He didn’t understand why Dwalin hadn’t rung anyone. He phoned my mum there and then to tell her I was safe, but she could hear me whooping in the background… She thought Dwalin got me drunk.”

“But you told her the truth? That you stole the cider?” Thorin pressed, a sickly feeling growing in his stomach.

“Balin did, when he drove me back home the next day,” Fili replied. “But… I don’t know, things are still a bit weird between Mum and Dwalin. I think she’s upset that I went to him or something… and that he didn’t make the call straight away.”

“Okay,” Thorin murmured, suddenly feeling very tired. This changed things a bit. He hadn’t expected there to be any tension between Dis and Dwalin. He couldn’t decide if this made his own situation with his cousin better or exponentially worse.

“And that concludes the story of my dickish teenage rebellion and why tomorrow is going to be super awkward for everyone involved,” Fili said, picking her ice cream up again and poking at the tub’s soupy contents.

Thorin tried not to smile, but the irony was too much. He didn’t think his niece was the dick she professed herself to be, but by God the universe certainly was. “You, er, you know things aren’t great between me and Dwalin too, right?”

Fili’s spoon stilled in the tub. “Yeah,” she said quietly, her tone unexpectedly gentle. “I figured that one out… But it’ll be alright.”

“Will it?” Thorin asked, eyeing his niece warily.

“Yeah… eventually, we’ll sort it out,” Fili said, and then she was grinning. “Nice to know our family’s just as dysfunctional as everybody else’s.”

Thorin mirrored her grin. “You mean we put the ‘fun’ in dysfunctional?”

Fili choked on her melted ice cream. “Oh my God, did you really just say that?”

“I saw it on a plaque in the Sainsbury’s kitchenware aisle.”

“Think we need it for our kitchen?”

Thorin and Fili both snorted, and the action made something warm bloom in Thorin’s chest, slowly pushing aside the ache that had tried to make its home there. He and Fili were quiet for a few moments and then his thoughts returned to the start of their conversation: he felt he still had a duty to carry out as an uncle.

“But you’re doing better now?” he asked softly. “No skiving… or anything else?”

Fili only seemed amused by the question. “Nah, I’m a reformed rebel… I failed all my Year 10 mocks and it was enough to kind of snap me out of it. So I worked my arse off all through Year 11 and did pretty well in my GCSEs.”

Thorin smiled, suspecting his niece was selling herself short. “How many As did you get?”

“Three.”

“…Oh.”

“And seven A*s.”

“So you did do pretty well then?”

They were snorting again. Fili reached up to fiddle with her ponytail. “Yeah, the Head of Year 11 has been using me as this beacon of hope for other students… Like, Fili really fucked up, but she turned it around and you can too! He wants me to speak at one of their assemblies next year… but I don’t think I’d be much good as an inspirational speaker.”

“Well, I’ll beg to differ on that one,” Thorin said slyly.

Fili’s smile was warm. “Thanks, Uncle.”

She slowly scooted closer on the bench and Thorin recognised a wariness in her that he hadn’t seen since his days at the hospital. Knowing Fili was probably going to let her caution stop her from simply asking her uncle for a hug, Thorin shuffled across to meet her and wrapped one arm around her back. Fili deposited the ice cream tub at her side and leaned into his shoulder. They both stared out at the patch work of fields before them for a long time.

“Uncle?” Fili murmured.

“Hmm?”

“I’m really glad you came home.”

Thorin smiled, squeezing Fili’s shoulder. “So am I.”

 

…

 

The mantelpiece clock’s minute hand moved to the number two with an ominous tick and it seemed to send out shuddering waves across the living room. Thorin had zoned out from the low buzz of the television so that the clock’s steady ticks were the predominant sounds knocking into his ears. Dis was clattering about in the kitchen, apparently just for something to occupy herself, but even his sister’s fidgeting couldn’t achieve dominance over the booming ticks that did nothing but add to the horrible sense of foreboding that had begun to fester in the room.

Any moment now, Balin and Dwalin would be pulling into their driveway. Thorin’s heart was bumping against his chest at a rhythm far speedier than the clock’s ticks and his mouth felt dry. His fingers had already developed a slight tremor, so he was keeping them shoved into his jeans pockets. Dain could tell that he was panicking, even silently, and so the Labrador was currently stretched over his lap on the sofa, his head snuggling into Thorin’s chest.

Dis had waited until he was away at the hospital to dial Balin and fill him in on some of the more sensitive details of his cousin’s hospitalisation. At Thorin’s request, she hadn’t spoken at any great length, but now they were aware that he had been on a psychiatric ward and that there were reasons Dain had joined their little family.

Thorin glanced across the room at Fili, who had tucked herself into the armchair in the corner. She caught his eye and smiled encouragingly, but Thorin thought his niece looked almost as nervous as he felt. He was glad they had had the conversation at the top of the hill yesterday, but knowing that there was a whole other set of issues arriving with the visit hardly eased his feelings of anxiety.

A car slowed down outside. Heavy tyres crunched on the gravel driveway.

“They’re here!” Kili cried, leaping up and switching off the television.

Thorin’s heart was scrambling up into his throat as he gently nudged Dain from his knees. The Labrador dropped down onto the floor and then waited as he got to his feet. He reached up with shaking fingers to readjust his beanie hat and then stared towards the living room door, watching Dis rush past in the hall.

The doorbell rang, long and loud.

“I’ll get it!” Kili bounded from the room and followed his mother.

Thorin looked to Fili again. She moved to his side, fiddling with her helix piercing. A clamour of joyful greetings sounded from the hallway and there was the sound of scuffling as suitcases and bags were dragged inside. Kili’s excited chatter rose above the din, and Thorin was thankful that his nephew, at least, seemed oblivious to the tension.

“It’ll be okay,” Fili whispered, her mouth barely moving. “We’ll be fine.”

Breaths growing shallower now, Thorin couldn’t bring himself to nod, although he was still grateful for Fili’s attempts at calming him.

Dis entered first, followed by Balin, and Dwalin came in last with Kili already swinging from his neck, treating him very much like a burly, six-foot climbing frame. Thorin met Dwalin’s dark eyes for a fraction of second, but then his cousin’s gaze quickly moved to Fili.

“And there’s the reprobate!” he called, grinning at her. Thorin didn’t miss the flicker of annoyance in Dis’ eyes.

“Hi, Dwalin,” Fili said cheerily, moving forward, nudging her brother aside so she could hug the Scotsman. Kili dropped back to the ground but busied himself with inspecting Dwalin’s large, tattooed bicep.

Balin had been watching the scene with an amused smile, his light brown eyes twinkling, but then he turned to Thorin. “It’s good to see you, laddie,” he said warmly, and it eased some of the tightness in Thorin’s chest. He edged a little closer, caution in his step. “I, er, I would hug you… but I understand if now is not the time.”

Thorin appreciated Balin’s discretion: Dis had no doubt touched on his issues with physical contact in their call, but he was going to be brave. He thought he could very probably use a hug at that moment.

“It’s alright,” Thorin said quietly, shuffling closer.

His initiation of the hug was probably a very awkward thing to witness, but Balin responded immediately and pulled Thorin down into an embrace. The Scot was at least a foot shorter than Thorin, so he had to stoop, but he hardly minded.

“We’re glad to have you back,” Balin murmured, as he released Thorin, his short, white beard rubbing against Thorin’s as he pulled away. It was comforting to know that Balin, at least, was happy he was home.

“I… I’m glad to be home,” Thorin replied, cringing at his stammer, but Balin didn’t seem to notice: his attentions were turned to Dain, who was sitting at Thorin’s side.

“And who is this bonnie boy?” he asked, beaming down at the Labrador.

“Dain,” Thorin smiled, stroking Dain’s head, feeling an odd sense of pride. “You can say hello, he… er, he likes meeting new people.”

“Does he now?” Balin said, reaching out to scratch under Dain’s chin, making his tail thump madly on the floor. “He’s a fine, young thing, isn’t he?”

Thorin couldn’t help but smile as Dain lapped up the attention being lavished on him by his new friend. His dark brown eyes kept flicking up at Thorin, filled with glee, as if to say: “I like this one, this one can stay”.

Finally, Balin ceased his patting and stepped back, turning to look across the room at his brother. “Dwalin,” he said gently. “Come and say hello.”

The room fell silent and suddenly every corner was clogged with tension. Thorin’s heart began booming in his ears as his eyes found his younger cousin. He reached for Dain, trying to still the tremors in his fingers by digging them into the soft fur of the Labrador’s neck. Dwalin stepped forward, away from Fili and Kili, and stared him down. At six foot two, with his shaved head, close cut dark beard, and brawny, tattooed arms, he was the picture of intimidation. Thorin could sense the hostility radiating out from him and the look of scrutiny in his eyes was disturbing. It made a breath lodge in Thorin’s throat.

“The beard ages you,” Dwalin stated, little humour in his voice.

Thorin hunched slightly, not sure what he was expected to say to that. At another time, in another life, he would have known Dwalin was ribbing him… but now he was sure the insult was meant. He had no intention of returning it, and so he stayed silent.

“You should’ve told us,” Dwalin continued, his tone just as grim.

“Dwalin,” Balin said sharply, but this reprimand was ignored.

“We could’ve helped… shared the load.”

Thorin’s stomach clenched. “ _The load_?” he whispered, his chest growing tighter by the second. “You mean _me_?”

“Thorin, sweetheart…” Dis began, attempting to intervene, but Dwalin spoke over her.

“That’s not what I…” he trailed off, and suddenly changed tact: deciding to go on the offensive instead. “Have you any idea how hard your sister works?”

Thorin’s heart was thrumming in his ribs and he couldn’t catch his breath.

“She’s raising two bairns on her own and practically runs that school,” Dwalin growled. “If you weren’t so damn proud…”

Thorin couldn’t breathe.

“Dwalin!”

“… We could’ve made sure she wasn’t working herself into an early grave trying to look after you as well!”

Thorin ran.

Black sparks bursting in front of his eyes and his heartbeat thudding in his ears, he bolted out of the living room, Dain at his heels. He staggered into the kitchen and threw open the back door. Stumbling out to the garden, he made it about half-way down the lawn before his legs gave way beneath him.

_I can’t breathe… I can’t breathe… I can’t breathe…_

Crawling into the shade of the enormous oak tree, Thorin collapsed onto his back in the grass. His chest was rising and falling with each of his ragged, uneven pants and he could hardly feel his fingers as his heart thundered on. Dain had lain down at his side and was now gently snuffling at his shoulder.

“Dain,” Thorin said weakly, between frantic breaths, and he reached up a shaking hand and patted his chest in invitation.

The Labrador got to his feet and carefully climbed onto Thorin’s abdomen, lying back down on his chest, creating a warm, reassuring weight there, as they had practised with their deep pressure training. Thorin pushed his fingers into Dain’s fur and then rested his head back on the grass, a broken sob leaving him. The tears clouded his eyes and he could feel them begin to dribble, hot and stinging, down the side of his face. Dain leaned forward and licked at Thorin’s cheeks, but the action was so gentle and caring that it only made him want to cry more, which proved very detrimental to his breathing.

Attempting to draw in a breath, Thorin gingerly reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out his phone. His thumb was still shaking and felt somehow detached from him, but he managed to find his way into his contacts list and dial Dr. Grey’s number.

The doctor picked up on the third ring. “Dr. Grey speaking.”

“… Bilbo…” Thorin gasped out, his throat feeling raw.

“Alright, Thorin,” Dr. Grey said calmly. “Deep breaths for me. Can you tell me where you are?”

“I need… to speak…” Thorin almost choked on a breath. “… to Bilbo…”

“I understand that, Thorin,” the doctor replied patiently. “But you are clearly in distress and first I need to ascertain that you are safe and –”

“Put Bilbo on the fucking phone!”

The outburst left Thorin in one gust of air and afterwards his lungs felt completely shrivelled and empty. The anger receded almost as soon as it had arrived, and the guilt was a dull pang in Thorin’s stomach.

“I’m just going through to the ward now,” Dr. Grey explained, and Thorin could hear the doors banging open, followed by a buzz of noises. “And Bilbo is here.”

There was a low murmur of hasty conversation and a crackle, and then Bilbo’s voice was on the other end of the line: “Thorin?”

Thorin’s breath caught, locked around a sob. “… Bilbo.” He sounded miserable.

“Okay, okay, love,” Bilbo said softly. “I’m right here, and if anyone tries to take the phone off me it’ll be the last thing they do.”

Thorin sniffled at that, but in the back of his mind he appreciated Bilbo’s reassurance.

“But you have to promise to stay on the line too, okay?”

Thorin swallowed, dipping his chin.

“Okay, Thorin?”

“… M’nodding.”

Bilbo chuckled, and it helped Thorin take a breath.

“I know you didn’t want to tell Gandalf,” Bilbo continued, his tone gentle. “But can you tell me where you are?”

“Back… garden…” Thorin said, in two short pants.

“Okay… Is Dain with you?”

“Yes.”

Thorin heard more murmured conversation and he knew his answers were being relayed.

“And are you hurt?” Bilbo’s voice sounded odd as he asked the question.

Thorin wasn’t immediately sure how to reply. No, Dwalin hadn’t head-butted him as he thought he might… the reality was far worse. He hadn’t been hurt in the physical sense, but he was still hurting. With the way his lungs were screaming and his body was trembling, he might as well have been bleeding out on the grass.

“Thorin?” Bilbo pressed.

“No.”

“Okay, thank you for telling me,” Bilbo replied. “Now let’s sort out that breathing… Would you like me to count for you? Or I can breathe with you?”

Thorin thought for a moment. “Breathe… with me… please.”

“Of course. We’re experts at this whole breathing thing, you and me. Right, we’re going to inhale… You just try to draw that breath in as deep as it’ll go, but if you can’t match me, don’t panic, we’ll get there. Okay, in…”

Thorin heard Bilbo suck in a breath and so he inhaled too, Dain bobbing on his chest, but he choked before Bilbo exhaled.

“Alright,” Bilbo whispered. “It’s alright; we’ll just try again… In…”

Thorin’s breath was deeper this time.

“And out…”

The breath left him in a sharp gust.

“Good. And again: in…”

They did nothing but breathe together for the next three minutes, Thorin following Bilbo’s gentle coaching, until he finally felt his lungs were back in full working order. His heart rate had slowed too, easing the ache that had been gripping his whole body.

“I swore at Dr. Grey,” was the first thing Thorin said, when he was sure he had enough breath in him. He reached up and rubbed at his eyes with the back of his free hand. Dr. Grey was such a calm and commanding pillar of authority, which was why Thorin suddenly felt the need for this confessional.

“Oh, don’t worry, I’m sure he’s heard much worse,” Bilbo mused. “Probably from me actually… Last week I told him to go fuck himself.”

Thorin snorted. He still had a hard time picturing Bilbo being so vulgar, but then the younger man had also told him that he’d once smashed Dr. Grey’s desk tidy.

There was a pause, and Thorin knew exactly what Bilbo was going to ask before the question arrived: “Would you like to talk about what triggered you?”

A sickly feeling uncoiled itself in Thorin’s stomach… but he hoped Bilbo might be able to coil it back up again and send it away. “Dwalin,” he murmured, hands reaching up to scratch Dain’s ears. The Labrador licked his chin.

“Okay,” Bilbo said carefully. “Was it something he did or something he said?”

Thorin grimaced. “He told me… that I’m a burden to Dis… that she’s going to work herself into an early grave trying to look after me as well as Fili and Kili.”

“Thorin,” Bilbo said, his tone serious, firm. “You know that isn’t true, and it was very unfair of Dwalin to say that to you.”

A non-committal grunt sounded in Thorin’s throat.

“Has Dis ever said that to you?” Bilbo said quietly. “Has your sister ever made you feel like a burden?”

“No,” Thorin admitted begrudgingly.

“And when you two had that talk, after your session about her with Gandalf, what did she say to you?”

Thorin cast his mind back to the afternoon that he had broken down the first wall with Dis, the afternoon that they had started to really rebuild their relationship.

“She… she said she loved me… She was happy I’d come home safely,” Thorin replied, his eyes stinging again.

“There you go,” Bilbo said warmly. “Dwalin doesn’t know what he’s talking about: he hasn’t been here. He’s obviously just got himself wound up and is wanting to lash out.”

“Okay,” Thorin murmured, the sickness in his stomach slowly beginning to abate.

There were whispers at the other end of the line, before Bilbo was speaking again: “Thorin, love, we can stay on the phone for as long as you want… but just so you know, we can send someone from the hospital to come and pick you up if you don’t feel comfortable staying at home. Or we can ring Dis or Fili and ask them to come out and sit with you if you don’t want to go back in the house.”

Thorin turned over the options in his mind, slowly rotating scenes in his head, judging them by how much his stomach clenched when he pictured each alternative. Bilbo had offered him several escape routes… but Thorin didn’t want to run away. Not again.

“You really don’t think Dwalin hates me?” he asked slowly.

“No,” Bilbo answered, his tone careful. “I think there are some things he doesn’t understand, and that you two have quite a lot you need to talk about.”

Thorin exhaled a steady breath. “I want to talk to him.”

“And I think he wants to talk to you, he’s just not sure how to go about it. I’m guessing your cousin isn’t exactly gifted in the words department?”

“Bit like me,” Thorin said, managing a smile. “No, he isn’t.”

“Okay, so just bear that in mind when you’re talking,” Bilbo said, before adding: “Are you ready to go back inside?”

Thorin gave a stiff nod.

“Are you nodding again?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, is it alright if I hang up now? Say yes, don’t nod.”

“Yes.”

“You know you can call back at any time… and I’ll see you this afternoon?”

“Okay… Bilbo?”

“Yes?”

“… I love you.”

Thorin could feel Bilbo’s smile on the other end of the phone. “I love you too… Now go and sort this out.”

“I will… See you soon.”

“See you soon.”

Thorin hung up and slipped the mobile back into his jeans pocket. He instructed Dain to dismount and then slowly dragged himself to his feet. After brushing a few stray blades of grass from his jeans, he scratched the Labrador's ears and then headed back towards the house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, it is never, ever okay to make someone feel guilty about being ill. However, we can’t all be as tactful as Fili and Rosie. Dwalin is not a subtle person and he is, understandably, quite angry at Thorin. 
> 
> Equally, although Dwalin is aware of Thorin’s mental health issues to some extent, he has never witnessed them first hand, and he has very little personal experience to go on. Seeing his cousin again, looking pale, having clearly lost a lot of weight, accompanied by an assistance dog – it’s enough to freak a guy like Dwalin out. He doesn’t process the shock very well, and so he goes on the offensive, and well and truly puts his foot in it. 
> 
> I just want you all to know that Dwalin is not a villain in this fic: he and Thorin are going to talk it out and eventually become the bros we know they were destined to be.
> 
> In other news, 'Obstacles' just celebrated its first birthday! I can't believe it's been a year since this anxious author posted the first chapter, and the past twelve months have been absolutely wonderful thanks to you all. Honestly, thank you so much for the comments and kudos, for reading and letting me know your thoughts. It continues to mean everything to me!


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Thorin and Dwalin learn to use their words, and Bilbo makes a fantastic first impression. 
> 
> Now with bonus shovel talk!

Balin was waiting at the kitchen table when Thorin pushed open the door. The older man rose to his feet as he entered, but kept his distance, giving him space.

“Hello, laddie,” he said quietly, his smile was warm, but Thorin saw the apology lurking behind it.

Eyes flitting to the end of the table, he found a glass of water waiting for him, along with the black, non-descript toiletry bag that held his medication. Dis must have collected it for him. Thorin thought about taking one of his anti-anxieties, but they often made him feel sleepy or just generally out of it… and if he was going to speak to Dwalin, he wanted to have all his wits about him. He carefully reached for the glass, pleased that there was now only the hint of tremble in his fingers, and took a few grateful gulps of cool water, soothing his raw throat.

“Fili has taken Kili upstairs,” Balin added, slowly moving around the table.

Thorin nodded stiffly, setting the glass back down on the table. He was glad that Kili was being protected from any further confrontation, though his heart still sank when he realised his nephew had witnessed his and Dwalin’s bitter exchange. He was about to ask after his cousin when he heard voices coming from the living room. Glancing through the kitchen doorway, he saw that the door to the room was shut, but Dis could still be heard and her voice was only growing louder. Heart giving a few heavy thuds, Thorin moved closer, hand held out for Dain, who followed at his side.

“Thorin.” Balin’s tone was low in warning, his soft, brown eyes tracking his movements across the kitchen. “Maybe…”

Dis’ voice suddenly rang out, sounding clearly in the hallway: “You do not speak for me!”

Thorin stopped just outside the door, his chest only tightening.

“You have no idea what it’s been like for me, you don’t know anything about these past few months… And using me as a weapon against _my own brother_? How dare you!”

His sister’s words were full of such fury, delivered with a force Thorin hadn’t heard in decades, but they were also coloured with pain and it was making his heart ache. He thought he heard Dwalin’s low rumble in response, but Dis didn’t appear to be anywhere near finished with him.

“He hasn’t been well, Dwalin… This isn’t like when you were teenagers and you could rough each other up a bit and then forget about it! And I swear to God if you upset him again, you _will_ live to regret it!”

It was the tremble in Dis’ voice on the last few words that made Thorin move. He didn’t want his sister getting this worked up on his behalf, and as much as he appreciated Dis standing up for him – her words, as harrowing as they had been, were helping ease the sting of Dwalin’s assault – he wanted her to know that he was slowly learning to fight his own battles again.

The room fell silent as soon as Thorin slipped inside. He caught a brief glimpse of Dis’ murderous expression before her blue gaze met his and her face instantly melted into a soft smile, clearly meant only for him. Her cheeks remained coloured and it was with a dull twinge in his chest that Thorin noted her reddened eyes and the angry tears still clinging to their corners.

“Thorin, love,” she whispered, coming to his side. Her hand gently reached out and touched his arm. “Do you need anything…? I left your bag out on the table.”

“I’m fine,” Thorin replied, his voice equally quiet. Despite Dis’ complete change in demeanour, he couldn’t get past her tears. He rubbed his thumb over her shoulder. “Are you alright?”

Dis hastily wiped at her eyes with the back of her free hand, but Thorin retrieved a tissue from the box on the coffee table, holding it out for her. His sister smiled, sighing as she dabbed at her eyes and murmured: “Thank you, sweetheart.”

Finally risking a glance at Dwalin, Thorin found the Scot studying them, looking utterly bewildered. His face was pale, his mouth open slightly, and his bushy, black brows were raised. Thorin supposed Dwalin had never seen him and Dis interact in such a way before: the moment had been tender, intimate, a testament to how far they had come since Thorin’s return to the UK… and it had clearly left their cousin quite stumped.

Thorin could see Dwalin slowly processing this new information, recalculating a few things, and then, finally, he spoke: “I’m sorry.”

Turning away from Dis, Thorin lowered his head in acknowledgement, though he sensed Dwalin was wanting to say more.

“Look… I, er, I know I’ve acted like a complete arse,” he continued, grey eyes flicking to Dis. “But… let’s sort this out, eh? Why don’t we go for a pint, have a proper catch-up?”

Thorin knew Dwalin was extending the olive branch the best way he knew how, but still his stomach clenched. “I can’t,” he said quietly.

Dwalin looked taken aback, panic flashing across his face. “What?”

“I can’t drink,” Thorin elaborated, fingers reaching for Dain.

“Oh…” Realisation seemed to dawn. “Oh right, because of your…?”

“My medication, yes.” Thorin tried not to sound too sour.

“Uh, right.”

Dwalin was looking uncomfortable now, but Thorin wasn’t going to hold it against him. He vaguely wondered how he would have reacted if he’d come back from leave only to find Dwalin looking pale and tired, with Dain at his side. In all honesty, he probably would’ve behaved far worse.

“So, you’re, er, not up for being designated driver, then?” Dwalin asked, with a faint chuckle.

Thorin froze, and he felt Dis straighten up at his side. He wasn’t sure what look she was giving Dwalin, but his face suddenly fell.

“Oh… Shit. Sorry. I didn’t…” He trailed off, looking even more uncomfortable than before.

“Okay, Dwalin, if you’re done digging yourself into that hole,” Dis said, clapping her hands together, obviously finding the awkward conversation too much to bear. “I suggest the two of you go for a walk… Why don’t you go to the park? It’s a lovely day.”

Dwalin’s posture slumped slightly with relief. “Aye, I’d be up for that.” His eyes moved to Thorin, looking almost nervous.

“I’ll go and get Dain’s jacket,” came Thorin’s murmured reply.

Leaving Dwalin standing awkwardly in the living room, Thorin collected his toiletry bag from the kitchen table and then made the journey upstairs to his room. There were no sounds coming from Fili’s room, so he guessed his niece and nephew must be holding up in the attic. Depositing the bag back in his bedside drawer, Thorin slumped down onto the bed, Dain coming to sit between his knees.

He drew in a few deep, steady breaths, relieved that his lungs were on his side again, and scratched behind Dain’s ears as the Labrador rested his head on his knee. Dwalin was willing to talk to him: that was a positive. His cousin wanted to sort things out between them… but that required effort on Thorin’s part too. He’d have to face the confrontation, the questions he knew were coming, and he wasn’t sure Dwalin would be happy with his answers. A lot of things Thorin didn’t know if he could explain, or explain well enough to get his point across. As he’d told Bilbo on the phone, neither him nor Dwalin was gifted in the ‘words department’, and so having a conversation about the past seven years seemed very much like an uphill battle… but Thorin decided he wasn’t going to flee from a fight again.

It was several long minutes before he forced himself to rise from the bed and retrieve Dain’s high-vis jacket and lead. The Labrador waited patiently as Thorin attached the jacket and clipped on the lead, getting him fully kitted out for their impending excursion.

“Right, are we ready, Dain?” Thorin asked softly, stroking his head, only wishing he could get a proper pep talk.

Dain licked at his fingers in response, the best encouragement he could offer, and Thorin smiled. “Then let’s go.”

Thorin left his room with what he’s hoped was a purposeful stride. He had just turned onto the stairs when he found Dwalin coming towards him.

“Oh,” the Scot stopped half-way up the steps, his hand resting on the banister. “I, er, I was just coming to see if you were ready.”

Managing a small smile, Thorin nodded. “Ready.”

“Right, well, shall we get off then?” Dwalin glanced back down the stairs, and Thorin was sure this was the first time he had ever seen his cousin looking bashful.

They descended the stairs together and after calling to Dis and Balin, informing them of their departure, they set off towards the park.

 

…

 

Thorin decided against taking Dwalin to the bench he and Fili had hiked up to the previous day. He wasn’t sure his lungs would be able to cope with the climb so soon after an attack; instead, he elected to take Dwalin to a spot by the lake in a quiet corner of the park.

They said very little to each other on the walk over there. Thorin mostly kept his focus on following the trail to the lake, Dain trotting dutifully at his side. He commented every so often to point Dwalin in the right direction, but his cousin said little in reply. In fact, the most Dwalin said wasn’t to Thorin at all. They had almost reached their destination when Thorin realised he and Dain were being ogled by a young jogger with bright pink headphones in her ears. She was studying them with a look of disconcertion, and as much as it made Thorin’s stomach tighten, he did his best to ignore her.

However, as she passed Dwalin growled: “What’re you lookin’ at?”

The girl’s music clearly wasn’t loud enough to block out Dwalin’s attack and she stumbled away from him, fear flashing in her eyes as she broke into a run. Thorin said nothing as he tried to hide his sly smile.

“We could sit here?” he suggested, when they left the pathway to come to the lake’s edge. He gestured to a long, wooden bench by the water.

Dwalin grunted his acquiescence and slid down onto the bench. Thorin settled down next to him, making sure to leave a comfortable distance between them. This part of the park was mostly deserted despite the good weather: the bright blue sky was reflected in the still waters of the lake, creating a beautifully bizarre optical illusion. On the opposite bank, a mother stood with her two children who were feeding a crowd of white ducks that had congregated by the shore. Thorin saw the youngest shoving some of the bread crust into her mouth before throwing a few scraps to the waiting birds: an odd but innocent communion.

“Your dog doesn’t like me.”

Thorin turned away from the scene across the lake to find Dwalin looking down at Dain, who was sitting next to his knee. He knew the Labrador had been side-eyeing Dwalin for the duration of their walk and now his chosen position between the two of them did seem somewhat protective and wary.

“He’s just sussing you out,” Thorin said, patting Dain with a small smile. “He’ll come around… Why don’t you, er, scratch his ears? That’ll win him over.”

Dwalin shifted on the bench, then extended his hand to Dain. “Come here then, fierce brown beastie.”

Dain eyed the hand sceptically before his dark eyes moved to Thorin, who nudged him forward with his knee. The Labrador snuffled at Dwalin’s hand before the Scot began scratching behind his ears and ruffling the thick hair at his neck with his other hand. In no time at all, Dain’s tail was wagging as he leaned in to Dwalin’s touch.

“Told you,” Thorin said softly, smiling over at the two of them.

Dwalin continued to stroke Dain as they fell into silence. Thorin’s gaze returned to the lake, but he could feel the questions slowly swelling between them, clotting the air, along with everything else he wanted to say. Drawing in a deep breath, he decided it was his turn to offer an olive branch.

“I’m sorry I left.”

It was a simple statement, but it was the truth. He and Dwalin were not eloquent people, and Thorin hoped his cousin would appreciate this honest declaration, without its flowery language or any attempt at skirting around the issue.

Dwalin studied him for a long time, one hand still scratching Dain’s ears. “Why did you leave?” he asked quietly. “You never told me.”

Thorin slowly exhaled. He knew this would be at the top of Dwalin’s list of questions… and there were several answers. He wasn’t sure which would be easiest to explain.

“I… I didn’t think I was needed,” Thorin replied carefully, feeling his heart contract. “You and Balin went back to Edinburgh… Dis insisted she was fine on her own… I, er, I didn’t think anyone would miss me.”

This confession was so raw it was making Thorin’s chest hurt. He wondered if he should reach for Dain.

Dwalin’s expression was stoic, but his eyes were pained as he muttered a low: “I missed you.”

Thorin’s hand did find Dain then, and the Labrador quickly returned his attentions to his partner, licking at Thorin’s fingers and nudging his knee. Bilbo was right then, as he always was. Dwalin was angry because he had missed him… because his leaving had affected his family in a way he had never realised until he had returned. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, throat feeling tight. “I mean it, Dwal… I never meant to… to upset you.”

Dwalin grunted, but it was an accepting grunt. He lowered his eyes for a moment, running a finger over the knuckles of his other hand, looking almost pensive. It was a while before his grey-blue eyes returned to Thorin. “That the only reason?” he asked, as if he knew Thorin had more to say.

Thorin pushed his fingers into the fur of Dain’s neck and made sure he took a few steady breaths before he answered: “I was grieving… Losing my dad like that, I didn’t… I couldn’t cope…” There was the first tell-tale prickle at the corners of his eyes as the emotions of his initial departure returned to haunt him. “I just needed to be alone… Being back here, it was too much… I couldn’t bear it.”

He glanced across at Dwalin and found his cousin seemed disturbed by this admission, but then he tentatively raised a hand and patted Thorin’s arm. It was the action of someone unused to comforting others, but Thorin knew there were good intentions behind it.

“Alright,” Dwalin said, sighing. “I do understand that… I lost my old man too.”

Thorin froze at that. Dwalin rarely mentioned his father, Fundin, who had been killed whilst serving in Northern Ireland when his sons were in their twenties. Thorin remembered Dwalin punching his fist through a door in their local when he came down to visit not long after… He had sat with him in the LGI whilst they picked wooden shards out of his fingers and then taken his cousin home and put him to bed. He wondered why it had never occurred to him that Dwalin was more than willing to do the same for him.

“I would’ve been there, Thorin,” Dwalin said, looking out across the lake, cracking his knuckles. “Not to look after you, I know you didn’t want that… but whatever you did want… I, er… Shit, lad, I would’ve done anything for you.”

Dwalin was looking uncomfortable again, and Thorin sensed this confession had taken a lot of mental preparation on his part. Admitting to caring wasn’t something that came easily to either of them, but Thorin had the advantage of months of therapy which had taught him how to express feelings of affection.

“I know,” Thorin said, and the ache in his chest was slowly easing as he began to rearrange his view on the past seven years of his life. A third apology was present in his expression as he looked to Dwalin, managing a smile.

“Ach… it’s done,” Dwalin said firmly, hands moving to his knees. “Can’t change it… So, er, how about we just… move on from it now? I mean, it’s been a shitty few years and I can’t say I’m lookin’ to continue that… So…” He trailed off, seeming to doubt his words, and he quickly looked back at the lake.

“Okay,” Thorin agreed, knowing this meant forgiveness, and he was more than happy to accept Dwalin’s suggestion of moving on and of moving forward.

Dwalin nodded, studying Thorin out of the corner of his eye, sitting straighter on the bench. They sat in silence for another few minutes, watching the newly fed ducks disperse across the lake as their source of food was tugged away by the hand. The tension between them had slowly dissipated, but he still suspected that Dwalin wasn’t quite done yet.

Sure enough, Dwalin turned to him then: “You want to tell me why you didn’t want us knowing about you being in hospital?”

Thorin stroked Dain’s head and swallowed, trying to keep his breathing steady. “Too damn proud,” he said, in an echo of Dwalin’s words, because he supposed it was partly true. He gave him a small smile to let him know it wasn’t an accusation. “And… well, I guess I was… ashamed.”

Admitting this caused Thorin to wince, but he quickly schooled his features back into a neutral expression, trying to ignore the way his heart had begun to knock at his ribs.

“ _Ashamed_?” Dwalin asked, sounding genuinely surprised. “Thorin… This…” He gestured vaguely in Thorin’s direction. “This isn’t anything to be ashamed about… Christ.”

Thorin nodded slowly. “It took me a little while to figure that out.”

Dwalin studied him sternly, as if he wanted to say: “And don’t you forget it!” Instead he let out a huff and glanced back towards the lake. Thorin thought they were going to return to another stretch of silence, but then Dwalin spoke again: “I saw you… Through the kitchen window… you were…”

Thorin waited to see if Dwalin would be able to finish the sentence, but he was looking bewildered again. Thorin also didn’t miss the hint of guilt in his voice. “Having a panic attack,” he finished. “It, er, it happens sometimes… when I’m triggered, when something… upsets me.”

Dwalin grimaced. “I’m a tosser.” It came out in a growl as he clenched his fists in his lap. “Thorin… I… What I said…” The fists were still clenched and his jaw twitched. Thorin was about to intervene and put Dwalin out of his misery when he added a gruff: “I’m sorry.”

Thorin smiled at that, lowering his head in acknowledgement. They had one apology a piece, and now they were even. For two people who struggled with communication, they had done pretty well.

“So… uh, when you were on the phone… were you talking to your, er, therapist?”

The question caught Thorin off-guard. The earnest look in Dwalin’s eyes told him his cousin was trying to take an interest in his welfare, trying to understand… but the answer very probably wasn’t one he was expecting. Thorin briefly considered lying: telling Dwalin about Dr. Grey and leaving it at that. Yet, their conversation by the lake had, despite its stilted nature and silences, run fairly smoothly. Maybe Dwalin would be able to handle another revelation?

Bilbo had told him that he should only come out to his cousin if he felt comfortable doing so… and after everything he and Dwalin had just shared, he supposed he did. Stroking Dain’s head, he drew in one deep, controlled breath and turned to Dwalin. The Scot was looking nervous again, as if he thought his question had been too invasive, but he didn’t have time to back-pedal before Thorin was speaking.

“I’m gay, Dwal,” he murmured, forcing himself to keep steady eye contact.

Dwalin seemed thrown by the sudden change of topic, but then he let out a sigh. “Aye… I know.”

Thorin’s heart jolted, his eyes widening. “What?”

Dwalin’s smile was unexpectedly soft as he replied: “Thorin, I’ve known you were gay since about 1993… I just figured it was none of my business ‘til you wanted to talk about it.”

“Oh,” Thorin whispered, his heart thrumming against his ribs.

Twenty-one years. For twenty-one years, Dwalin had known, but Thorin had never dared broach the subject with him… Maybe it would’ve made all those nights in the pub getting approached by girls far less awkward if he had been open about his sexuality. But, now he thought about it, hadn’t Dwalin always been the one to distract their admirers? Guide them away from him and save him from the flirting? _“Sorry, ladies, we’re only here for a quiet pint tonight… I know you girls love a man in uniform, but alas, this one’s married to the forces… I, however…”_ Dwalin had been looking out for him all these years… and Thorin was an idiot.

“I… er, I kind of hoped there was some German bloke… Just so you weren’t, you know, on your own out there,” Dwalin said quietly, inspecting his knuckles.

Thorin exhaled slowly. There had been a few one night stands – the most disastrous of which being his landlord’s nephew – but nothing serious, only transient flings. “No,” he replied, studying the lake again. “There wasn’t anyone.”

“Oh… right. So,” Dwalin drew out the vowel. “Do you want to tell me who was on the phone?”

Realising he needed to give his cousin more credit, Thorin sat up straighter. Of course Dwalin would have managed to connect his original question with Thorin’s coming out. “Bilbo,” he answered. “My boyfriend.”

Dwalin was suddenly grinning. “Was it, now? Well… Lad, that’s… that’s really great. I’m, uh, I’m happy for you.”

The grin was infectious and now Thorin was smiling too… and blushing. Damn it, he cursed, why was he blushing? Surely Dwalin was going to tease him for the rest of his visit, but right now he was feeling strangely giddy… like a weight had been lifted, and he found he couldn’t quite bring himself to care. “Thank you,” he murmured.

“Where’d you two meet, then?” Dwalin asked, looking quite gleeful himself.

Thorin’s stomach clenched. He wasn’t sure how Dwalin would react to the truth… but they had got this far, and he guessed one end result he wanted from this conversation was taking his cousin to meet Bilbo. Honesty, he knew, was the best policy.

“He was in the room next to mine when I was in hospital,” Thorin explained carefully.

Dwalin didn’t seem fazed. “Oh, military man as well, is he?”

Thorin nodded. “An officer in the Intelligence Corps… Dwal, he’s, er, he’s still there… at the hospital.”

A flicker passed over Dwalin’s features. “Oh.” He schooled his face into a neutral expression. “That… er, that make things a bit… tricky for you?”

At first Thorin bristled at the implications of Dwalin’s question and Bilbo’s miserable mutterings of ‘burden’ sounded in his ears, but then he took a step back and realised Dwalin was only concerned.

“Not really,” Thorin said, though his tone was still cautious. “I visit him every day… I was, er, wondering if you and Balin would like to come with me tomorrow?”

Dwalin was smiling again. “Aye, we’d like to meet your chap… ‘Specially if he’s the cause of that soppy look on your face.”

“Soppy?” Thorin said, his scowl only half-hearted.

“And you’re blushing,” Dwalin added, seeming to be enjoying himself.

“Git,” was all Thorin said, and then they were both snorting.

They turned to stare out at the lake, the air between them feeling light and clear, the pain and the unanswered questions of years apart slowly receding like the water’s gentle waves on the shore by their feet. Their initial confrontation had quite literally knocked Thorin off his feet, but now he was glad that Dwalin was here and that they had managed to talk about everything, to shrug off the weight of the past… and with Dwalin agreeing to meet Bilbo, they were also moving forward together.

“Want to head back?” Thorin asked finally, after a few minutes of easy silence.

“I suppose,” Dwalin said, patting his knees. “Though I’m worried your sister might butcher me soon as I’m through the door…She’s not a lassie to be trifled with.”

Thorin sniggered. “I’ll protect you.”  

Dwalin managed a smile at that. “Alright, lad, let’s go.”

 

…

 

The next day, Dwalin drove them to the hospital. Bilbo had been thrilled to hear how well Thorin’s conversation with Dwalin had turned out, and declared that he was anxious to meet both his cousins. With Dwalin on side, coming out to Balin seemed like a far easier feat… and he had done so only to discover that Balin, like his brother, had been aware of Thorin’s sexuality since the mid-90s. Thorin, once again, dubbed himself an idiot.

Dwalin’s grumbling about having to take out a loan to pay for hospital parking continued into the lift and throughout their journey upwards. He only fell silent when they were buzzed through onto the ward. The three of them, with Dain in tow, approached the nurses’ station and were greeted by Rosie, who handed out their visitor badges.

“My cousins, Balin and Dwalin,” Thorin introduced, picking up his pen.

“Lovely to meet you both,” Rosie grinned. “Bilbo’s waiting for you in the dayroom, so once you’ve filled in your badges you can wander straight through.”

“Oh, okay,” Thorin replied, trying not to raise an eyebrow as he clipped his badge onto his jacket.

He had expected the meeting to take place in Bilbo’s room, but he supposed Bilbo might feel more at ease in a room full of other patients and their visitors… and with staff on hand to help if anything went awry. Dis’ fury had melted away by the time he and Dwalin had returned to the house, but she had still provided a fairly threatening presence as Thorin explained a few things about Bilbo to his cousins. He hadn’t revealed any sensitive information – he didn’t think that was fair, nor his place – but he had requested that they not ask Bilbo anything about his injuries and only discuss his military service if he brought it up first.

“Goddammit.” The growl came from Dwalin, who was struggling to clip his badge onto his dark grey t-shirt.

“Your jeans pocket is fine,” Rosie put in gently.

Dwalin grunted, but still attached his badge to his jeans. It was then that Thorin realised his cousin was looking uncomfortable. His chest grew tight, but he knew hospitals made a lot of people uneasy. The ward had been his home for four months; he had forgotten that to others, it was a very alien environment. He just wasn’t sure what he could say to ease Dwalin’s discomfort.

“Right, laddie, do you want to lead the way?” Balin asked kindly, his brown eyes twinkling.

Thorin nodded, deciding to focus on the matter at hand. “Er, yes… It’s this way.”

The three of them moved around the nurses’ station and headed down the corridor to the dayroom, which had already grown busy with the ebb and flow of patients and visitors. They fell into single file to slip through the dayroom doorway, Thorin going first. His eyes found Bilbo immediately… and he stopped.

Bilbo was standing by a cluster of sofas and soft chairs towards the back of the room… and he had got dressed. Gone were the tartan pyjama bottoms and Birmingham hoodie: Bilbo was wearing a light grey, cable-knit cardigan with a chunky collar and mustard-coloured chinos. A navy blue shirt peeked out from beneath the cardigan. And Thorin most certainly did a double take as Bilbo grinned over at him.

“I take it that’s him, then?” Balin asked, with an amused smile.

“Y-yes…” Thorin stammered, letting his feet carry him across the room. He reached Bilbo and resisted all urges to drag the younger man into a rather enthusiastic kiss. “Hello,” he murmured, one hand going to Bilbo’s back. Dain snuffled excitedly at Bilbo’s hands.

“Hello,” Bilbo replied, stroking the Labrador with a knowing look in his eyes.

Thorin’s brain had undoubtedly been short-circuited, and so he didn’t quite cotton onto the fact that he should be the one to start the introductions. Luckily, Bilbo was there to help him.

“Professor Fundinson,” he said pleasantly, extending his hand to Balin. “Bilbo Baggins, very pleased to meet you.”

“Oh, you can call me Balin, laddie,” Balin replied warmly, as he gave Bilbo’s hand a firm shake. “None of this ‘professor’ nonsense.”

Bilbo smiled and turned to Dwalin expectantly. Dwalin had been staring at Bilbo in mild shock during the exchange, but his brother gave him a discreet kick. Thorin wasn’t sure what Dwalin had been expecting from his boyfriend, but he clearly hadn’t been expecting Bilbo.

“Uh, Dwalin,” Dwalin said, shaking Bilbo’s hand.

“Bilbo,” Bilbo smiled. “Shall we sit?”

After murmured agreements, Thorin and Bilbo took a seat on a comfy sofa, Thorin stretching his arm across its back, behind Bilbo, and restraining himself from climbing into his boyfriend’s lap. Dain slumped down onto the floor between their feet, and Balin and Dwalin lowered themselves into the soft chairs opposite them.

“I trust you had a safe journey down from Edinburgh?” Bilbo asked, once they were settled. “It’s about a four hour drive, isn’t it?”

Thorin couldn’t help but admire how easily Bilbo slipped into effortless small talk… It came to him then that his boyfriend was ridiculously charming, and the soppy grin was back.

“Aye, ‘bout four hours,” Balin agreed. “And safe enough, despite my brother’s driving.”

“It’s your car that’s the problem,” Dwalin growled, arms crossed over his chest. “I told you to get that door fixed.”

Balin only chuckled, and Bilbo and Thorin laughed too, leaving Dwalin to sit back sulkily in his chair.

“So, Balin, Thorin tells me you lecture at the School of Political Science?” Bilbo said, moving the conversation swiftly on.

Balin nodded. “Aye, the School of Social and Political Science.”

“There must be an interesting buzz on campus,” Bilbo said thoughtfully. “What with the Referendum coming up…”

“Ach, can we not talk about the bloody Referendum?” Dwalin put in, his bushy brows knitted. “I can’t ink an arse cheek without someone wanting to talk about Yes and No votes!”

Thorin sent daggers in his younger cousin’s direction, and Dwalin’s expression instantly softened. “Uh, sorry,” he said, giving Bilbo an apologetic grimace. “We can, er, talk about it… if you want to.”

“Quite alright,” Bilbo said, with another easy smile. “I’m sure you must be sick of it by now.”

Dwalin seemed surprised by this easy forgiveness, but fairly thankful for it too.

“The University is running a blog on it at the moment,” Balin explained, ignoring his brother’s quibbles. “I’ve contributed a few posts on it myself, though I prefer to stick to things past in my usual articles.”

“Oh, do you write for any journals?” Bilbo asked, looking genuinely intrigued. Thorin couldn’t help but smile: he knew Bilbo and Balin would get on like a house on fire.

“Aye, I’ve had a few bits and bobs published in the _British Journal of Political Science_ and _International Affairs_ … Oh, and _The Acorn_ and _The Political Quarterly_.”

“Very impressive,” Bilbo said, beaming, then his brow suddenly furrowed. “Wait… wait a minute. You’ve written an article on Clausewitz and the links between political objectives and military objectives in war, haven’t you?”

Balin looked surprised. “I did: in 1998, for _International Affairs_.”

“I’ve read it,” Bilbo whispered, sounding awe-struck. “I knew I recognised your last name… I, er, I quoted you in my Master’s thesis.”

A few spots of red had appeared on Balin’s cheeks. “Well, laddie, what a small world… and I’m very flattered.”

“I never thought I’d be meeting you in person a decade later,” Bilbo gushed, and it made Thorin giddy to see him so excited. “Your article influenced a whole re-write of one of my chapters.”

Thorin noticed Dwalin was looking over at him with a sly smirk. “So…” he said casually. “Looks like you’re a trophy boyfriend.”

Thorin aimed a kick at him, but Dwalin dodged his feet out of the way, grinning. And Thorin smiled too, glad that they were now able to tease each other without there being any malicious undercurrents.

“I’ll have you know Thorin’s read Arendt’s _Eichmann in Jerusalem_ ,” Bilbo said, leaning closer into Thorin’s arm as he grinned over at Dwalin.

“Have you?” Balin asked, looking genuinely impressed. “I can’t even get Dwalin to read _The Scotsman_.”

“Well, that would also involve teaching Dwalin to read,” Thorin put in, and he didn’t manage to dodge his foot out of the way of Dwalin’s boot. Dain roused himself and gave the Scot a sleepy glare.

“Prick,” Dwalin muttered, and Thorin only smirked.

They spent the next hour discussing everything from Balin’s latest article to a few unfortunate tattoos Dwalin had inflicted on his customers. Thorin and Dwalin continued to rag on each other and Bilbo and Balin shared their exasperation. When visiting hours were over, they offered to walk Bilbo back to his room, and so their party of four, with Dain trotting at Thorin’s side, made its way back down the corridor towards the nurses’ station.

“Well, it was a pleasure to meet you, laddie,” Balin said, when they came to a stop outside Bilbo’s room.

He and Bilbo shook hands again, and then Dwalin moved forward, shaking Bilbo’s hand a little more firmly than he had done the first time. Thorin leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to Bilbo’s forehead and the younger man pulled him into an embrace. Thorin returned it, his fingers tracing the foreign patterns of the grey cardigan.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Bilbo said, pulling away.

“See you tomorrow,” Thorin agreed.

With a few final smiles and a wave, Bilbo returned to his room, leaving them to sign out at the nurses’ station. Thorin saw Dwalin watching Bilbo’s retreat and raised an eyebrow.

“I, uh, just realised I forgot something,” Dwalin mumbled, and then he was suddenly following Bilbo into his room.

“Dwalin?” Thorin asked, concerned, making to go after him.

He stopped when Balin put a gentle hand on his arm, and sighed: “Just let him do it, lad. It’s his way of showing he cares.”

“Do what?” Thorin asked, staring after Dwalin, his heart beginning a heavy thud.

Balin exchanged a look with Rosie as she collected his visitor badge, and Thorin knew he was missing something.

“Do what, Balin?” he pressed, fingers tightening around Dain’s lead.

“Well, a bit of a shovel talk, I suppose,” Balin said, winking at him. “But your chap is a very charming and intelligent young man, so I doubt my brother will be too harsh.”

Thorin’s chest felt tight, but he didn’t have time to curse before Dwalin had reappeared at his side, looking pleased with himself. Thorin rounded on his cousin with a black look. “What did you say?” he demanded.

“Oh, not much,” Dwalin replied, handing his badge to Rosie. “Just told him if he breaks your heart, I’ll break his legs.”

“You _what_?” Thorin thundered. “Oh God, Dwalin!”

Thorin ignored Dwalin’s stutters of protest and rushed into Bilbo’s room, urging Dain with him, only to find Bilbo looking quite placid and unharmed as he rearranged the pillows on his bed. Still, Thorin went to him, hands reaching for his shoulders.

“I’m sorry,” he said urgently. “Dwalin’s an idiot… He didn’t mean – If he ever…”

“Thorin,” Bilbo spoke over him, hands moving to lay flat against his chest. “I’m fine, honestly… Your cousin isn’t half as scary as he thinks he is.”

“I won’t tell him you said that,” Thorin smiled, his heart rate slowing again. “He might actually break your legs.”

Bilbo grinned up at him and then they shared a quiet moment, Thorin rubbing his fingers gently over Bilbo’s shoulders, foreheads pressed gently together.

“You got dressed,” Thorin murmured finally.

“You make it sound like I’ve been running around Ered Luin naked all these years.”

Thorin smirked. “Now, there’s a thought.”

Bilbo lightly tapped his arm, and was suddenly looking bashful. “Rosie went shopping for me… I, well, I wanted to make a good first impression.”

Thorin lifted his hands up to cup Bilbo’s face, warmth blossoming in his chest. “You did,” he said quietly. “They both loved you… and you look bloody gorgeous in that outfit.” Thorin felt himself blush as the words tumbled out: he’d never been very good at complimenting people, but the way Bilbo’s whole face lit up told him he’d said the right thing.

“Thank you,” Bilbo whispered.

“And… I really am sorry about Dwalin,” Thorin sighed. “He’s just looking out for me… I didn’t think he would actually…” He trailed off.

“It really is fine,” Bilbo insisted, his fingers curling into the collar of Thorin’s jacket. “I guess I’ll just have to make sure I don’t break your heart.”

And with that he pulled Thorin down into a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, did you know there’s actually a political journal called The Acorn? Definitely an opportunity for being shipper trash I wasn’t going to pass up!
> 
> Also, just a quick explanation: this fic is set in the summer of 2014 with the Scottish Independence Referendum taking place on 18th September. 
> 
> Also also, the response to the past few chapters has been out of this world! I know I say this every chapter, but it honestly means so much to me that you guys are enjoying this fic and that you’re kind enough to tell me so. Thank you all so much for making my summer truly spectacular!


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Exam results and early morning arguments with microwaves. 
> 
> And did you know Fili’s uncle is six foot two?

Thorin cracked open one eye, listening. His tethers to sleep were slowly cut, and he could almost feel them curling like snapped guitar strings as he made this gradual return to the waking world. His darkened bedroom settled into focus around him… and then noises sounded, once again, from downstairs. With a sleepy grunt, he pulled himself up onto his elbows and glanced at the clock radio on his bedside table: it was five-thirty in the morning.

He hadn’t slept well during Balin and Dwalin’s visit. This particular deprivation was unexpected in the sense that he had lived on a busy ward full of people for months, and therefore should have been used to a crowded house and unfamiliar noises. However, he supposed his disturbed dreams and scattered hours of sleep had been due to the stress created by his cousins’ arrival.

For the three nights they had played host, Fili had slept up in the attic with Kili, Balin had taken Fili’s room, and Dwalin had occupied the sofa downstairs. Dis and Dwalin had come to blows when she’d insisted that he have her room and the Scot had flat-out refused. There had been accusations of ‘playing the martyr’ on both sides, but Dis had finally given in to Dwalin’s demands. Thorin had wondered if they were simply trying to find something to fight about to exorcise the tension that had clearly been brewing between them since Dwalin’s outburst. Although it may have worked: the visit had ended with them on fairly cheerful terms and Dis had pulled her cousin into a firm hug before he departed for Edinburgh.

They had waved goodbye to Balin and Dwalin last week, and with the sofa once again vacated, it couldn't be Dwalin who was moving about downstairs. Dain had lifted his head when Thorin pulled himself up, and now the Labrador’s ears were twitching as he turned his head towards the door. A series of electronic beeps cut through the quiet, followed by a low hum: someone was using the microwave in the kitchen.

Thorin scratched one of Dain’s ears. “Shall we go and see if Fili needs some help?” he murmured, with a sigh.

He had no doubt that he would find his niece downstairs: today was Results Day and in a few hours they would be joining Fili at her school as she opened a brown envelope containing her AS results. She had been oddly quiet and reserved last night and had turned in early. Having recognised these familiar signs of distress, Thorin had been frustrated with himself for not being able to offer suitable words of comfort: he hadn’t known what to say or how to help, but maybe he could make up for that now.

Clambering out of bed and stretching his sleep-stiffened limbs, Thorin paused before he reached his door. Would Fili want to be alone this morning? Would he be intruding if he went downstairs? Dain came to his side and nudged at his hand; his fingers automatically found the thick fur of his neck as he weighed up his options. He knew he would feel terribly guilty if he went back to bed and left Fili to her own devices, only to discover that she had really needed someone to talk to. Equally, he could excuse himself if it became apparent that his niece really did need some space and his presence in the kitchen was unwelcome.

With this in mind, Thorin made the short journey downstairs, trying to be as quiet about it as possible, wincing when the hallway floorboards creaked beneath his bare feet. As he and Dain drew nearer to the kitchen doorway, they heard a distinct stream of swear words coming from inside. Slowly pushing open the door, Thorin found Fili, still in her pyjamas but with her blonde hair pulled up into an especially messy bun. She was hunched over in the corner, with her back to him, and she appeared to be arguing with the microwave. Its door was hanging open and there was milk dribbling over the worktop and down the cupboards beneath it.

“Fili?” Thorin said gently, his brow furrowed.

Fili spun around with a noise of alarm, panic flashing in her blue eyes, but then her shoulders slumped. “Uncle… I didn’t – Sorry… I…”

Thorin peered at the mess behind his niece. “Are you alright?”

“I… er, I am currently mid-‘fuck fuck shit’ moment and… I don’t… The stupid microwave… and…”

Fili’s breaths were short and sharp, her expression one of absolute misery, and it urged Thorin to take action. He moved around the kitchen table and pulled out a chair.

“Okay, just sit down for a moment,” he said softly, waiting with his hands on the back of the chair.

Fili stared at the chair, looking torn. “But… I’ve made a mess… I need –”

“You need to sit down,” Thorin said firmly, hoping his tone wasn’t too harsh.

After another long moment of indecision, Fili nodded. She moved forward and slumped down into the chair. Thorin went to inspect the criminal appliance, aware that his niece’s eyes were watching him. The mug of milk she was trying to heat had clearly bubbled over and it was still sitting in the microwave surrounded by a steaming, white pool… which was also spilling onto the counter. Retrieving a tea towel from the rail by the sink, Thorin reached in and removed the offending mug, surprised to discover that it was still over half-way full. He wiped the bottom of it and set it down at the side of the microwave.

“I was trying to make hot chocolate,” Fili stated sullenly, from her place at the table. “I didn’t realise the dial was already turned to the highest setting.”

Thorin lifted the glass dish from the microwave, cringing at his clumsy movements which made more milk trickle onto the floor. Dain was studying the scene before him and seemed quite agitated, like he was restraining himself, and he realised the Labrador was very probably resisting the urge to lick the milk from the kitchen cupboards and the floor.

“Well, there’s no use crying over spilled milk,” Thorin said, flashing a smile at Fili, and then he stopped… Bloody hell: he sounded just like Radagast. He gave himself a good few mental kicks as punishment.

Fili’s lips twitched, but she didn’t comment, only continued to watch him as he placed the dish in the sink and turned to collect a roll of kitchen towels. It took several minutes to mop up the milk, and Thorin gave the microwave, the countertop and the cupboards a good cleaning, lest they both face the wrath of Dis in a couple of hours’ time. Fili remained silent, leaning back in her chair with her arms wrapped around herself, though Thorin could hear that her breathing had returned to normal.

“Right, how about we try again without using the microwave?” he suggested, once he had disposed of the dripping mess of kitchen towels in the bin. He collected the kettle and began to fill it with water.

“Oh, Uncle, I can do that,” Fili said, sounding more like herself again as she made to rise from her chair.

Thorin shook his head. “It’s fine.” It had been a while since he had been able to look after someone, and he found he was enjoying fulfilling his duties as ‘normal uncle’. He clicked the kettle on and pulled two mugs down from the shelf. “Hot chocolate?” he asked gently, peering over at Fili.

“Cupboard on your left,” she prompted. “It’s a bit bitter, so you might want to add a teaspoon of sugar… and, er, some milk.”

Thorin tried not to grin at his niece’s guilty expression. He found the tub of hot chocolate and set about heaping spoonfuls into their mugs. He had just finished adding the sugar and milk when the kettle boiled, steam bursting from its plastic spout. Filling the mugs and giving them both a generous stir, he carried them to the table, setting one down in front of Fili and pulling up a chair himself. Dain paused, eyeing Fili, and then slid down onto the floor next to Thorin with a sleepy huff.

Fili wrapped her fingers around her mug and took a careful sip. Now he was sitting beside her, Thorin noticed her eyes were red from crying. Lifting his own mug, he waited to see if she would broach the topic of what was bothering her, but she stayed silent. This wasn’t one of the easy silences Thorin was used to and it was making him more and more uncomfortable as it dragged on, with Fili staring, her gaze closed off and unreachable, at the empty chair opposite her.

“You’re worried about your exam results?” Thorin asked, the quiet becoming too much for him. He knew he was stating the obvious, but luckily, if Fili had any sarcastic responses, she kept them to herself.

“Yeah,” Fili replied, setting her mug down. “One grade below a ‘B’ and it’s bye bye Birmingham.”

“Your mum said you could resit your exams in January,” Thorin murmured, trying not to let his feelings of helplessness show in his expression. As had already been firmly established, university applications weren’t his forte, but he had done his best to soak up every piece of advice and information he had picked up this summer.

“I know.” Fili’s voice was controlled. “But my statement’s pretty much done; I want to submit my application as soon as they open in September… I don’t want to have to wait until spring: my university choices are too competitive for that.”

“Okay,” Thorin said, now understanding Fili’s frustration all the more. “And it’s History you’re worried about?”

He knew this was another obvious statement, and Fili’s snort only confirmed it. “Yep, fucking Tudor Rebellions… I suppose there’s some irony there. The reformed rebel got caught out by somebody else trying to stick it to authority.”

Thorin smiled at that, admiring Fili’s ability to retain her sense of humour despite her despair. “But it was only one exam, worth fifty percent of your grade?” Thorin said, hoping he’d got that right. “Didn’t you say your other exam had gone well?”

“Yeah… Well, better than this one,” Fili replied, fiddling with a few thick strands of hair that had fallen from her bun. “Which will probably drag my grade down.”

Thorin studied Fili for a while, and it was with an ache in his chest that he recognised much of himself in her despondent expression. He and Dr. Grey had been battling with his penchant for pessimism for months. Thorin knew he struggled to see the positives in situations, because negativity was easy, it was familiar – almost safe. Feeling sorry for himself was a default mode so simple to slip into. But he couldn’t let Fili feel that way. Trying his best not to mimic Dr. Grey, he decided to keep pushing.

“Did you answer every question on the paper?” he asked quietly.

Fili nodded, picking her mug up again. “Yeah, I wrote down literally everything I could remember… Like, I handed in complete essays; it’s just that they were beefed up with a hell of a lot of bullshit.”

Thorin chuckled. “As long as you’re confident in your ability to bullshit convincingly, that’s what Bilbo told me… He won an academic prize for an essay he described as, and I quote, ‘the most profound bollocks I’ve ever written’.”

Fili sniggered into her mug. “Well… here’s hoping my bullshit was convincing.”

“I’m sure it was,” Thorin smiled. He hesitated before adding: “But, if it isn’t… if you fail this exam, what’s the worst that can happen? Honestly, Fili… what is it you’re scared of?”

He was definitely entering Dr. Grey territory, but this was an exercise he actually found helpful in his sessions. He would lay out the direst, most apocalyptic scenario that could result from a situation he was worried about and then together he and the doctor would unpick both the scenario’s likelihood and ways to avoid it.

From the look in Fili’s eyes, he sensed that his niece knew exactly what he was doing, but of course she did: Fili was no fool. However, she did decide to play along: “If I fail this exam, I have to resit it in January… So I either send off my application in September with a shitty AS grade and get rejected by all five of my choices or I wait until my resit results in March and find out that my choices have no places left and have to go through clearing.”

“Okay,” Thorin said, slowly processing this information and sifting through the application terminology. “But isn’t there a chance that one of your choices will accept you even with a, er, shit grade? Or they might still have places left in March?”

He was convinced Fili was going to fight him on this, but instead she lowered her head in assent: “Yeah… I suppose there’s a chance.”

“And, if you go through clearing,” Thorin pressed, hoping he was succeeding in getting some positivity from his niece. “You could still get an offer from a decent university… Anywhere you end up, Fili, I’m sure you’ll do really well.”

Fili managed a smile at that, and a shine had appeared in her blue eyes. “Thanks, Uncle,” she said softly.

Thorin returned her smile, before draining his mug. They sat quietly for a few minutes as the sun rose higher in the sky, filling the kitchen with warm summer light. Thorin was about to suggest they made some breakfast when they heard the soft thumps of someone coming down the stairs.

“Please don’t tell Mum about the microwave,” Fili whispered, her eyes darting to her uncle.

Thorin rose to collect her mug. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he replied, and the two of them shared a conspiratorial smile just as Dis appeared in the kitchen.

 

…

 

It was approaching nine o’ clock when their car turned into the driveway of Erebor Grammar School. Thorin glanced out of the window as they passed a dark red sign that bore the school’s name in large gold lettering, along with its crest and ‘Est. 1770’. There were several cars already parked in front of the main school building, but Dis still located a suitable space close to the main doors. The car came to a stop and there were clicks as four seat belts were unbuckled.

Dis twisted herself around in the driver’s seat, looking to Fili. “Okay, sweetheart, it’s almost nine, so if you want to go in, we’ll be waiting outside.”

Fili was looking pale and nervous in the back seat. She managed a nod before climbing out of the car. Thorin watched as Dis’ eyes followed her into the building, her lips pursed. Dis was clearly just as worried as her daughter, she was just doing her best not to show it. Other students were beginning to arrive now and they all trickled around the cars, up the stone steps to the school’s main entrance.

“Shall we wait over there?” Dis asked gently, gesturing to a bench in front of them that was sitting in the shade of a few ancient trees. “We’re going to roast in the car.”

Thorin eyed the shady, green space and nodded. “Okay.”

With that, everyone climbed out of the car. Squinting against the light, Thorin decided to slip on his sunglasses: he had deemed them an unnecessary accessory when Fili had talked him into buying them last week, but he supposed they did serve a functional as well as fashionable purpose. He went to the boot and let Dain leap out before clipping his lead onto his collar and adjusting his jacket which had become skewed during the car journey. He then followed Dis and Kili towards the bench, Dain alert and sniffing the air at his side, clearly sussing out this new space and its potential dangers.

These dangers had already been discussed that morning and it had been agreed that Thorin wouldn’t venture into the main hall where envelopes were being handed out: the space was no doubt going to be crowded full of shrieking and – very possibly – crying teenagers, which certainly had the potential to trigger something or, at the very least, make him feel fairly claustrophobic and uncomfortable. Instead, their party had elected to wait outside whilst Fili collected her envelope and then she would come and find them before she opened it.

Reaching the bench, Thorin hesitated before taking a seat next to Kili, wondering if it would be better for his own nerves if he was standing or able to walk around. Dis was conducting an odd circuit behind the bench, arms folded across her chest, trying to keep herself occupied. Thorin watched as Kili pushed the white toes of his Converse into the dust, head bowed, concentrating on his efforts. He too was obviously aware of the morning’s significance, and Thorin sensed he was just as nervous for his sister as everyone else.

There was a steady stream of people making their way into the school now and Thorin watched them from a safe distance. A few looked over, but their eyes didn’t linger. He also saw some looks of recognition, mainly directed at Kili or Dis, and hands were almost raised in greeting, but stilled when it was noted that neither of them was looking in their direction.

Finally turning his gaze from the barrage of arriving students, Thorin’s eyes moved over the school building behind them. He scanned the old grey stone which faded to a splattering of light brown before disappearing into the grass. The windows were tall and shining in the morning sun, and there was a touch of dark green ivy creeping about the building’s corners. For a moment it reminded him of Esgaroth Coffee House and its walled terrace. 

“Hey.”

Thorin’s gaze quickly moved from the school’s ivy-covered corners to find Fili standing by the bench, a brown envelope clutched in one hand. Kili jumped up and Dis came to Fili’s side. His heart suddenly sounding in his ears, Thorin got to his feet, tentatively moving to Fili’s other side. She held the envelope up, her fingers taking on a slight tremble.

“Okay, love, whatever’s in that envelope, just remember: it’s not the whole story,” Dis counselled. “We can work with it.”

Fili nodded. “Let’s just get this over with.”

Thorin drew in a deep breath, trying to steady himself as Fili carefully peeled open the flap of the envelope. He had just enough time to say a silent prayer to whatever deity was up there that Fili wasn’t about to discover another obstacle in her path, and then she was pulling a white sheet of paper out and unfolding it.

Thorin was sure he stopped breathing altogether and then Fili let out a shriek, before clamping a hand over her mouth to muffle further screams. She turned wide blue eyes on Thorin as the shaking hand fell away.

“I got four As,” she whispered, then louder: “I got four As!”

Thorin felt his whole face light up in a thousand-watt smile as Fili let out a surprised laugh and Kili whooped in the background. He was about to congratulate her when she was suddenly flinging her arms around him and dragging him into a hug.  Feeling slightly winded, relief nonetheless rushed through him, quickly followed by a roaring sense of pride that burst right from his chest. He squeezed Fili’s shoulders and murmured: “I’m so proud of you.” And he really was; nothing could compare to the overflowing feeling of love he felt for his niece at that moment.

With a disbelieving gasp of “Oh my God!”, Fili drew away, and her eyes were filled with tears of happiness and relief. “Oh my God,” she repeated, glancing down at the results again, as if to confirm their existence, and then she turned to Dis. “Mum,” she choked out, presenting Dis with the sheet of paper.

Dis’ eyes scanned the page with a wide smile and Kili shuffled in to read over her arm. She opened her mouth to speak, but then Fili was pulling her into a fierce hug, just as she had done with her uncle. Dis looked genuinely surprised and her hands hovered over Fili’s back until she finally reciprocated the embrace and rested her chin on her daughter’s hair, her expression soft and affectionate. Thorin suspected this might have been the first hug mother and daughter had shared in years, and he was glad it was happening now.

Finally, Fili straightened up and turned to Kili, who had patiently been waiting his turn to congratulate his sister. “I told you, Fee!” he grinned, brown eyes bright.

“You did,” Fili replied, ruffling her brother’s mop of hair. “I knew I should’ve listened to you.” She wrapped an arm around his lanky form and squashed him into her side, using her free hand to quickly wipe at her eyes.

Now three hugs had been given, Thorin tentatively reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out his phone. “Will you ring Bilbo?” he asked, sounding almost bashful. “He’ll be on tenterhooks at the hospital, I’m sure he’d appreciate hearing it from you.”

“Of course!” Fili said, beaming. She held out her hand for the phone. “It’s looking like I might actually be able to return that library book for him,” she added, with a smirk.

Bilbo knew Fili was harbouring anxieties about her exam results and he had shared in the family’s worry and anticipation this week; Thorin thought that it was only fair that he also share in their joy.

“It’s the ward’s direct line, yeah?” Fili asked, opening the contact list.

Thorin nodded. “They’re expecting a call, so just ask for Bilbo and they’ll pass you on.”

Fili lifted the phone to her ear and waited. “Oh, hello, Poppy! It’s Fili Oakenshield, Thorin’s niece… I was just wondering if I could speak to Bilbo?”

There was a pause and then Fili was grinning. “Hi, Bilbo! So… I got four As! … I know! … Yeah, yeah, I was bricking it this morning… Yep, an ‘A’ in History, hoping that isn’t a typo… I’ll say, probably the most profound bollocks I’ve ever written.”

Thorin started as Fili quoted Bilbo, but then his stomach did a giddy flip. Kili, on the other hand, was giving his mother a scandalised look at Fili’s turn of phrase and Dis was placating him, mouthing ‘I know’ and stroking his hair.

“Yeah… Well, fingers crossed, it’s definitely gonna be my first choice… Uh-huh, the final draft is done, so hopefully submitting it in a couple of weeks… Will do… Okay…”

Thorin couldn’t help but revel in all the warm feeling flourishing in his chest as he watched Fili’s ecstatic expression as she nattered on to Bilbo, and he could just picture the smile on the younger man’s face as he leaned on the nurses’ station, phone in hand.

“Yeah, just wanted to let you know… Okay, thanks, Bilbo… See you soon!”

Fili then held the phone back to Thorin, her grin now looking a little more sly. “He wants a word with you.”

“Oh,” Thorin said, accepting the phone. “Hello?”

“Yes, hello, am I speaking to the world’s proudest uncle?” came Bilbo’s gleeful voice down the other end of the line.

“Definitely,” Thorin said, sure he was on the verge of puffing out his chest.

“Fili must be over the moon,” Bilbo said, and Thorin could hear the smile.

He watched as Fili’s eyes travelled over the paper in her hand and then she started another round of ‘Oh my God-ing’. “Yeah, she seems quite happy.”

“She’ll get an offer from Birmingham now,” Bilbo murmured. “No doubt about it.”

There was something odd in Bilbo’s tone, something Thorin couldn’t quite place. He supposed it must be difficult for him to think about, with his years at Birmingham so far behind him.

“All okay at Ered Luin?” Thorin asked, his voice low. This seemed a safer way to phrase: ‘How are you?’, although he supposed the answer would be the same.

“Oh, yes, everything’s fine,” Bilbo replied, brightening again. “I didn’t sleep awfully well last night, what with Fili’s results coming up and knowing how nervous you all must be… But I think I’ll have a nap now before you come this afternoon.”

“Okay,” Thorin smiled. “I, er, I think Fili would like to see you, Dis and Kili too, if that’s alright?”

“Of course, that would be lovely,” came Bilbo’s warm reply. “But I’d better make sure I do have that nap.”

Taking this as a segue into the end of their conversation, Thorin said: “Alright, I’ll let you go… Sleep well, and I’ll see you soon.”

“See you soon,” Bilbo agreed. There was a pause, as if for their mutual smiles, followed by a long, soft beep, indicating that Bilbo had hung up.

“You’ll have to ring Balin and Dwalin,” Dis said, as Thorin pocketed his phone.

“Will do,” Fili said, still seeming unwilling to take her eyes off her results. “Want me to –”

“FILI!”

“Oh my God, there you are!”

They appeared out of nowhere, but all of a sudden Fili was being mobbed by half a dozen students. Thorin staggered back, feeling the wind knocked from him, as Fili was swarmed by her friends who were all waving their respective envelopes. Dain stuck to him like a limpet as he backed away and the Labrador licked at his fingers until his breathing evened out. Inhaling deeply, Thorin watched the commotion as some sort of group hug of tangled limbs ensued by the bench.

“Knew you could do it, Fee!”

“Hey, Tim, that was my foot, dickhead!”

“Yeah and watch the hijab!”

After enough squishing seemed to have taken place the group broke apart again so that Fili, still at its centre, reappeared, looking flushed but happy.

“Well, this peasant is applying for Oxford!” a tall, dark-haired boy declared, kissing his envelope.

Thorin noted that he kept one arm hanging over Fili’s shoulder, leaning in to her, and he couldn’t help but bristle, his protective instincts kicking in, but then he told himself to stop. He didn’t want to be the kind of uncle who grabbed a shot-gun, metaphorical or otherwise, any time anyone went near his niece. However, it looked like no fire arms were necessary this time: Fili slipped from his embrace, turning to talk to the girl in the dark blue hijab as they swapped envelopes, inspecting each other’s results.

Dis and Kili were standing at the edge of the group, being largely ignored as the teenagers continued to chatter about grades and university applications. Tightening his fingers around Dain’s lead, he moved around the group towards them, but in doing so he accidentally made eye contact with the petite, red-headed girl standing beside Fili. The girl immediately stilled, looking him up and down, her mouth agape. Thorin was surprised that it was him, and not Dain in his high-vis jacket, that seemed to have caught her attention.

“Holy fuck!”

Thorin flinched, unsure how such a loud, broad voice could come from such a tiny girl. Suddenly all eyes were on him and he shrunk back towards Dis, as if for protection, one hand reaching out for Dain, the other for his grey beanie, ensuring it was fully covering his scar.

“Oh, yeah, shit, I forgot,” Fili said, breaking the very awkward silence. “Er, Uncle Thorin, my friends: Tim, Erin, Aidan, Zaara, Charlotte… and Laura. Guys, this is my Uncle Thorin.”

Fili indicated each of her friends in turn: Tim was the dark-haired boy who was apparently applying to Oxford and Laura was the red-head who was still staring, rather unnervingly, up at him. There was a cheery, but slightly uncomfortable, responding chorus, comprised of mumbled variations of ‘Hello’, and Thorin found himself frozen on the spot, unsure of what was expected from him now.

“You’re, like, really tall,” Laura said, her wide eyes trained on him, her cheeks growing red. A few of her friends tittered in the background. “How tall are you?”

Thorin stiffened, one hand digging into Dain’s fur, praying someone or something would intervene. When no miracles occurred, he decided he had no choice but to answer. “Six foot two,” he said quietly.

Laura’s eyes only widened. “Six foot two? Fili, your uncle is six foot two,” she said meaningfully, as she turned to Fili. “Why didn’t you tell us your uncle is _six foot two_?”

Thorin suddenly remembered the way Sigrid had acted during his and Bilbo’s first date, and then he felt his own cheeks begin to colour. He sensed ‘six foot two’ might be code for something else that he didn’t really want to think about. Fili was rolling her eyes, and then she caught Thorin’s gaze and mouthed: ‘Sorry!’

“Okay, dude, it’s getting creepy now.” The broad-shouldered boy Thorin deduced must be Aidan moved forward and grabbed Laura’s shoulders, beginning to steer her away. “How about we go and harass Greenwood Junior instead?”

Laura reluctantly agreed, letting herself be guided away by Aidan and another friend: Erin, if Thorin had remembered Fili’s introductions correctly.

“Anyway,” Tim put in, drawing out the first syllable. “Party at mine tonight, Fee-Fee, we’re gonna get totally – Oh, hello, Ms Oakenshield!”

Dis’ smile was wry as she regarded Tim. “Hello, Tim,” she replied. Zaara and Charlotte were sniggering.

“As I was saying, not so much a party, more a kind of… _get together_ , with nibbles and background music, pretty fancy, you know, with my parents supervising,” Tim said, his words stumbling out quickly, almost blurred together. “Fili’ll be back by half ten, no later.”

“Of course,” Dis said simply, the wry smile still in place.

“Okay, so I think I’m gonna go and reassure Mr. Greenwood that despite his complete lack of faith in me, I still got my target grade,” Fili said, and she seemed desperate to excuse herself. “That okay, Mum? I’ll only be a few minutes.”

Dis nodded. “We’ll wait in the car, love.”

Thorin wondered if this move to the car was to protect him if any of Fili’s friends decided not to join her in searching out the haughty Mr. Greenwood. However, she needn’t have bothered: Tim, Zaara, and Charlotte quickly followed behind Fili and they were all whispering excitedly about something. Relieved that he was now without an audience, Thorin let his shoulders slump as he shuffled back towards the car, Dis and Kili coming to his side.

“Well, I think you made quite an impression,” Dis said, clearly biting back a smirk.

Thorin let out a half-hearted growl in response.

Dis only seemed to be enjoying herself all the more. “Oh, don’t be so miserable, today’s a day for celebration if ever there was one.”

Thorin didn’t reply as they reached the car, he was about to open the boot for Dain when Kili called out: “Miss Silvan!”

Oh bloody hell, what now? was Thorin’s immediate thought, but then they were approached by a pretty, young teacher, her long red hair falling almost to her back, who had been heading over to her own car with a bag of books. She came over, smiling at Kili first, before her light brown eyes moved to Dis.

“Hello, Kili, and Dis, lovely to see you again,” she said warmly, and then she turned to Thorin, her smile only growing wider. “And you must be Kili’s uncle. I’ve heard so much about you: it’s wonderful to finally meet you in person.”

She extended her hand and Thorin paused for a moment before shaking it. “You’re Kili’s English teacher?” he asked, hoping he was right in this assertion. Kili had told him enough times about Miss Silvan’s lessons that he was sure he was.

“She was last year,” Kili put in, sounding quite sullen. This was obviously about to change.

“Well, this was something I wasn’t going to tell you until the new term,” Miss Silvan said, her eyes twinkling. “But I am going to be your English teacher next year.”

“But… you’re not teaching Set Four next year,” Kili replied, his brow furrowed. “You told us you were teaching Set Three.”

Miss Silvan only smiled. “Yes.”

Realisation suddenly dawned and Kili’s eyes went round and wide. “I… I’m moving up!” he cried. “I’m moving up to Set Three!”

Miss Silvan was beaming now. “Yes, you are. You absolutely smashed your end of year target, so you definitely belong in Set Three.”

“Well done, mate,” Thorin said, grinning across at his nephew, sure he was going to burst from pride. Dis squeezed Kili’s shoulder.

“And you never know,” Miss Silvan continued. “If you work really hard next term there’s always the possibility that you could move into Set Two.”

Kili mouthed ‘Set Two’, clearly in shock, but then he said: “If I’m in Set Two, you won’t be my teacher though.”

“No, Miss Cavanagh will be your teacher,” Miss Silvan agreed.

Kili thought for a moment. “Then I think I want to stay in Set Three.”

Miss Silvan chuckled and so did Dis. A faint colour appeared in Kili’s cheeks.

“Kili’s come on leaps and bounds with his reading,” Miss Silvan commented, looking from Dis to Thorin. “Thank you both so much for your support with his literacy programme.”

Thorin was surprised to be included: he supposed he had read with Kili most nights since he was discharged, but Kili was the one who was doing all the work.

“Of course, and if there’s anything else we can do, just let us know,” Dis smiled, giving Kili’s shoulder another squeeze.

“I will,” Miss Silvan replied. “Right, I’ll leave you all to get on. I’ll see you in September, Kili, and lovely to meet you, Thorin.”

She surprised Thorin by using his name, but he supposed she had seen it written down enough times in Kili’s homework. He nodded in acknowledgement. With that, Miss Silvan turned away and headed back to her car. As nice as this meeting with Kili’s English teacher had been, Thorin wasn’t sure he could face being introduced to anybody else: he felt absolutely exhausted. He therefore busied himself with opening the boot and urging Dain to jump inside. Unclipping the Labrador’s lead, he then shut the boot and went to climb into the front seat of the car.

Leaning back, Thorin closed his eyes, letting out a long breath. His niece’s vaguely terrifying friends aside, this had turned out to be a very successful morning. Fili had got four As and was still on track for getting into Birmingham and Kili’s perseverance with his reading had paid off and now he was being moved up a set in English. Thorin opened his eyes when Dis slammed her door. She looked across at him, smiling, and Thorin couldn’t help but grin back. Bilbo was right: today he was the world’s proudest uncle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to say good luck to any of my readers who may be receiving their AS/A-Level results this Thursday! I hope you all get the grades you’re after and may your Results Day be as successful as Fili's ;)
> 
> Also, I know a few of you might be becoming disconcerted by the vast amount of fluff in recent chapters. All I want to say is don’t panic: Chapter 28 comes with a complimentary packet of tissues *muffled cackling in the distance*.


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *distributes packets of complimentary tissues*

“AFCO Leeds?” Thorin said quietly, one eyebrow raised.

“Yes, the Armed Forces Careers Office,” Dr. Grey replied. “It’s on Bond Street.”

Thorin eyed the glossy blue folder the doctor was holding in his lap. “I know what it stands for,” he muttered.

Thorin’s return to the Forces was not, strictly speaking, a new point of discussion in his sessions. However, it had mostly been mentioned in passing, with the doctor making only brief allusions to it over the past few months. When he was first admitted to Ered Luin, Thorin had been quite vocal about the fact that he wasn’t interested in retirement, and so after a few enigmatic comments about ‘making arrangements’ for him, Dr. Grey had let the topic alone so Thorin could focus on his recovery. This had continued when he was discharged, but now the appearance of the blue folder – Thorin could recognise the British Army crest upside down – suggested they were about to broach the topic head-on.

“You would be posted there twice a week,” Dr. Grey continued. “Mostly just observing for now, but once you learn the ropes, I’m assured you will be able to take a more active role in advising prospective recruits.”

“Wait,” Thorin said, feeling his chest tighten. “You’re… you’re asking me to _work_ there? I thought you meant I’d be going for an… an interview or something.”

Dr. Grey smiled, his blue eyes twinkling, and Thorin felt a hint of colour creeping into his cheeks.

“No, my dear Thorin, I believe your twenty years in the Forces speaks volumes: no interview will be necessary,” the doctor said, long fingers folding over the documents in his lap. “They are expecting you on Thursday, just for the morning, and it really will just be a case of you observing the workings of the office and getting yourself acclimatised to the space.”

“So it’s a desk job,” Thorin replied, an edge appearing in his tone. His frustrations, his yearnings to return to active service – which had long been kept at bay by his unexpectedly, well, _eventful_ recovery – were beginning to stir within him once again. He wasn’t meant to be stuck in an office for the rest of his career.

“Not in the traditional sense,” Dr. Grey countered. “There is very little paperwork involved: it is much more about being a good judge of character, knowing whether these applicants are suitable for a life in the armed forces.”

“So I would need to be able to talk to people,” Thorin said pointedly, although he was surprised to hear the humour in his voice.

Dr. Grey’s smile was suitably wry. “Not for the first few weeks: you will be sitting in on career interviews and observing other members of staff at the AFCO. Tom, the young man from Faramir’s support group, is currently working there part-time and he, for one, is eager to have you on board.”

Thorin’s eyebrow twitched again: this was unexpected, but at least he would feel more comfortable knowing someone at the AFCO. And then another thought occurred to him. “Does Graham work there as well?” he asked, trying to sound casual.

The look in Dr. Grey’s eyes intimated that his attempt had failed. “No, Graham elected for retirement last year and he is now involved in charity work for the Royal British Legion.”

“Oh,” Thorin replied, rather lamely. “Okay.”

It was a strange feeling: he was both relieved and disappointed. Relieved because, for all there had been apologies and reconciliations, he still felt rather awkward around the silver-haired soldier, but disappointed because it would have been nice to have another friendly face in this new unknown.

Shifting in his leather armchair, Thorin reached out to scratch behind Dain’s ears. The Labrador twisted himself around and rested his head on his partner’s knee. “Will I be allowed to bring Dain with me?” Thorin murmured, stroking Dain’s head and avoiding the doctor’s eye.

“Of course,” Dr. Grey assured him. “I have been reliably informed that Tom and Bungle make quite the team.”

A sarcastic comment about luring unsuspecting civilians into the Forces with puppies sprung to mind, but Thorin bit his tongue. “Will I be in uniform?” he said instead, still not looking at the doctor, feeling his heart begin to thump.

“That decision is entirely up to you. You will, however, retain your rank of captain whether or not you choose to be in uniform, but it is again your decision how you wish to be addressed whilst working at the AFCO.”

Thorin nodded, finally looking up to meet the doctor’s alert blue gaze. He had an odd sense of déjà vu, thinking back to the moment he had been informed of his impending discharge and all of a sudden everything was changing. He knew this change was hardly as drastic, but still his stomach was beginning to knot itself.

“I’ve got an information pack here for you,” Dr. Grey said, holding out the blue folder to Thorin. “It will tell you everything you need to know about your new role.”

The last time the doctor had tried to hand Thorin an information pack – the one concerning the introduction of Dain into his life – he had behaved like a petulant child and refused to take it. This time, however, Thorin accepted the folder and pulled it into his own lap. He resisted the urge to mutter something about ‘progress’. Slowly opening the cardboard flap, Thorin discovered a wad of documents inside. Quickly flicking through, he spotted some letter correspondences, a few brightly-coloured leaflets, and he stopped when he saw a photograph in the top right-hand corner of one of the information sheets. He carefully pulled it out from the pack.

“Lieutenant-Colonel Boromir Whitetree,” Dr. Grey explained. “He is currently posted at AFC Harrogate and also oversees appointments to the AFCOs in the area. You will be meeting with him on Thursday.”

Thorin heard very little of what the doctor said after the word ‘Whitetree’. He stared down at the uniformed man in the picture: unlike Faramir, he was clean-shaven with short sandy hair but there was clearly some resemblance there. “He’s…” Thorin began, still studying the photograph.

“Faramir’s older brother,” Dr. Grey finished. “And he is also, for want of a better word, an Ered Luin alumnus.”

Thorin lifted his eyes from the page, his heart thudding in his ears again. Faramir’s brother had been admitted to the hospital? He wondered vaguely if Faramir’s involvement with the training of assistance dogs had sprung from his brother’s injury, but then this was quickly overtaken by the thought that Lieutenant-Colonel Whitetree had once been in Thorin’s position, but now he held a very admirable senior post, training new recruits at the Army Foundation College in North Yorkshire.

Scratching at Dain’s ears again, Thorin drew in a long, slow breath. “Will I ever be cleared for a return to active service?” he asked quietly, his stomach clenching.

It was a question he had never dared ask before. He and Dr. Grey had been dancing around the issue since he had first been invalided back from Afghanistan, and Thorin had always been too afraid of the answer to dare push the subject.

“If that is something you want, then of course we will be able to work towards it,” Dr. Grey replied gently. “It is a very achievable goal, Thorin, and Lieutenant-Colonel Whitetree has assured me that, in time, there will be a position for you at AFC Harrogate, should it interest you.”

Thorin’s heart was still thumping as he studied the doctor, processing this information. “And… overseas service?” he said, his throat suddenly feeling very dry.

Dr. Grey didn’t answer straight away: there was a pause as he studied Thorin over the top of his glasses. “Again, that is something we can work towards. It may take some time, and you will have to be patient with yourself, but taking on a position at AFC Harrogate will allow us to focus on reducing your reactions to your triggers and then, yes, I will deem you fit for overseas service.”

Thorin nodded, swallowing to try and relieve the scratching that had started in his throat. This was all good news, better than he had hoped for… but it wasn’t just him on his own anymore. He could never leave Bilbo for a six-month tour of duty. A few months ago he had convinced himself that once he had waded through the chaos of his recovery he would reach a point where he would be back with his unit, deployed to wherever he was needed most, and he would pretend that the ambush had never happened, a slate wiped clean. But this wasn’t the case now: so much had changed since he returned to the UK, and he was a different person, hopefully a better one. His home-coming had been many years in the making, and he finally understood that maybe he needed to focus on home now. Right here was where he was needed most.

“Shall we consider the more immediate future for the moment?” Dr. Grey said, warmth in his expression: he had obviously been able to follow some of Thorin’s meandering thoughts into the distant future.

Thorin coughed, straightening up in the chair. He shuffled the papers back into the blue folder, looking to the doctor expectantly.

“Lieutenant-Colonel Whitetree will meet you at the AFCO at nine o’ clock on Thursday. I believe he has a few scheduled appointments with some school-leaver applicants, and he would quite like you to sit in on some of them.”

“School-leavers?” Thorin murmured, his chest feeling tight again.

He wasn’t sure how sixteen and seventeen year olds would react to his presence at their interviews… how they would react to his scar, which would be clearly visible if he was in full uniform. Equally, he wasn’t sure what they would think of Dain, and he doubted he could pass the Labrador off as a sniffer dog.

Thorin reached for Dain again. “Isn’t the Lieutenant-Colonel worried I might scare them away?”

“On the contrary,” Dr. Grey replied. “I think if any of these prospective recruits behave in a less than appropriate way towards you, it will make it very clear that they are not suitable to serve in Her Majesty’s armed forces.”

“Oh, I wasn’t talking about my scar… I meant my personality,” Thorin said, feigning stoicism.

Dr. Grey chuckled, and Thorin laughed too, surprised at his own quick-wit. This was the first joke he had ever shared with the doctor, and it felt… good. Ah, Thorin thought, noting the look in Dr. Grey’s eyes: progress.

 

…

 

Thorin’s eyes snapped open as the urgent vibrations continued above his head, and then his mobile’s tinny, default ringtone sounded in the darkness of his room. Scrambling into a sitting position, Thorin tried to quickly piece his mind together, dragging it from the confusion of deep sleep. Dain moved with him, nudging at his shoulder, trying to see his face and judge his level of distress. Twisting himself around, Thorin rubbed at his eyes and retrieved his phone from the shelf above his bed. He held it out, squinting at the glowing screen, and then his blood ran cold.

_Dr. Grey Mobile calling…_

Heart bruising the inside of his chest, Thorin forced himself to press the button and accept the call. He lifted the phone to his ear, already feeling light-headed and sick to his stomach.

“Thorin?” came Dr. Grey’s low voice.

Struggling to form a coherent thought, all Thorin managed in reply was: “Bilbo…”

“Is going to be fine,” the doctor finished, his tone calm and firm. “However, I find myself in need of your help tonight, Thorin.”

“What’s happened?” Thorin choked out, his throat raw. “Is he alright?”

“Bilbo has suffered a very severe night terror, the force of which caused him to fall from his bed. He is currently lying in the corner of his room, and from the way he is holding his left arm, I suspect he may have broken his wrist.”

 _Oh God_. Thorin’s stomach twisted and he blinked rapidly as the hot tears rushed to his eyes. He wrapped one arm around Dain, who had pulled himself into his lap.

“He is, understandably, very agitated and in a lot of pain,” Dr. Grey continued solemnly. “However, he will not let anyone near enough to examine him.”

Thorin screwed up his eyes, fighting back whatever pitiful sound was trying to escape his lips. He could picture it all too clearly: Bilbo, sweating, shaking, curled in on himself in the corner of his darkened room, clutching his arm to his chest, threatening anyone who approached him. There was an ache gnawing at his ribs, but he tried desperately to push it aside and focus on doing what he could to help him.

“What… what do you need me to do?” 

“I would like to see if Bilbo will speak to you on the phone.”

“Okay.” Thorin’s breathing faltered when the reality of the phone call hit. “What should… what am I supposed to say?”

This was not an area of expertise: Bilbo was so much better at this than he was. The one time he had actually talked the younger man round from one of his episodes he had, in fact, been unconscious and unable to reply.

“If possible, I would like you to try and convince Bilbo to let us help him, but simply getting him talking and reassuring him will definitely mitigate the situation.”

Thorin hastily wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand, attempting to draw in a deep breath. He knew that if he was unsuccessful, Bilbo was very probably going to end up being restrained and forcibly sedated. He had to do everything he could to save him from that… but he really wasn’t sure he could do enough and this doubt meant taking deep breaths was becoming tricky.

“Thorin, I need you to be honest with me now,” Dr. Grey continued gravely. “If you feel this request is going to be detrimental to your own wellbeing, you must tell me. We will help Bilbo and there are several other options; you must not feel that you alone are responsible for resolving the situation.”

His laboured breaths obviously hadn’t been lost on Dr. Grey. Reaching up and rubbing a hand over his beard, Thorin tried, once again, to take a deep breath. “I’m fine,” he said, hoping the tremble in his voice hadn’t been detected over the phone. “Please, let me speak to Bilbo.”

“Alright,” the doctor replied softly. “Take some deep breaths for me, Thorin. I’m heading into Bilbo’s room now.”

Thorin inhaled a shaky breath, his stomach lurching as silence sounded on the other end of the line. He strained his ears, listening for Bilbo’s voice, but it was Dr. Grey’s that came from the other end of the phone: “I’m going to slide the phone across the floor now, and Bilbo will pick up.”

Dr. Grey seemed so certain that Bilbo would speak to him: he could picture the look on the doctor’s face as he studied Bilbo… would Bilbo refuse to pick up the phone purely as an act of defiance, to prove him wrong? There was a strange swishing sound, like a gust of air, as the phone travelled over the linoleum tiles… and then nothing. Thorin waited, his heart in his mouth, but the line had returned to silence.

“Bilbo?” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. “Bilbo… please will you pick up the phone?”

There were a few more agonising moments of quiet and then a distinct scratching sounded in Thorin’s ear as the phone was lifted from the floor.

“I told them not to ring you.”

Bilbo’s voice was high and strained. There was obvious pain in it, but Thorin could also hear a hint of anger, and it twisted an icy shard into his stomach. He remembered their very first argument, when he had been upset that Bilbo hadn’t wanted him get involved in his episodes… but he understood that this was, essentially, Bilbo’s shame and embarrassment speaking. He had taken it personally then, but, as much as it still stung now, he wasn’t going to let it stop him doing what he needed to do.

“It’s okay,” Thorin replied gently, wincing as his voice cracked. “I was already awake.”

“You’re lying,” Bilbo snapped, a definite edge in his tone.

Thorin was mentally kicking himself: of course Bilbo would see straight through his lie, and now was not a time to be lying to him.

“Yes… B-But it’s still okay. I… I don’t mind.”

His voice was anything but steady, and Thorin was panicking. He had no idea what to say to Bilbo, and he was sure he was going to put his foot in it very soon. His heart was aching for him, and he desperately wished he was still at the hospital, but that wasn’t going to solve anything. Dr. Grey’s guidance came back to him, and so he drew in a deep breath.

“Bilbo, love, I know you must be in a lot of pain right now,” Thorin whispered, surprising himself with the endearment, but it came so naturally. “And I’m really worried about you… so please… please will you let Dr. Grey examine you?”

There was a horrible pause at the other end of the line, and Thorin’s stomach was twisting again. His pushed his fingers into the fur of Dain’s neck.

“As… as if being a chronic depressive just wasn’t enough of a riot,” Bilbo spat, his voice cracking. “Now I have to go and br-break my fucking wrist!”

Thorin flinched, closing his eyes as a weight began pressing down on his chest. Bilbo had chosen to ignore his plea, and now the panic was only getting worse.

“I… I just wasn’t miserable enough,” Bilbo continued bitterly.

Thorin could tell he was crying, and it only brought the stinging tears back to his own eyes.

“Your bullshit statue doesn’t work, Thorin!” Bilbo growled, before Thorin could say anything. “I’m looking at it right now… and… and it doesn’t give a f-fuck… it’s just glaring at me…”

Horrible memories of the night he had woken to Bilbo’s screams flooded Thorin’s mind, and he thought of how he had collapsed before the elephant-headed god, feeling like a powerless mortal in his wake… He knew telling Bilbo that he understood wouldn’t help, but he wasn’t sure what would… Bilbo was angry and he had every right to be completely pissed off with the statue and the universe and the whole sorry situation… but what could he do? The weight on his chest was growing heavier and it was creeping up to his throat.

“Bilbo… I… I don’t…” Thorin stopped, a breath clawing its way up his windpipe as his lungs began to shudder.

“Fuck,” Bilbo whispered, and then: “I… I’m triggering you… Fuck! I’m so stupid… I didn’t… fucking selfish…”

Thorin was desperately trying to keep himself together as he teetered on the verge of a panic attack. With Bilbo continuing his tirade of self-deprecating expletives, he forced himself to act. He nudged Dain out of his lap with a trembling hand and shuffled down on the bed, lying flat on his back.

“Dain,” he gasped, holding the phone away, patting his chest with his free hand.

The Labrador eagerly climbed onto his abdomen and lay down, paws at Thorin’s shoulders, providing a reassuring, warm weight on his chest, replacing the painful, crushing sensation that had been building during the call. Drawing in a shuddering breath, he lifted the phone back to his ear, but heard only a disturbing silence on the other end.

“Bilbo?” he said warily, his stomach clenching.

“I… I’m sorry,” came Bilbo’s broken voice, thick with remorse and misery.

Thorin’s heart felt like it was slowly being ripped in two. It was so unfair that Bilbo felt he needed to apologise after everything he had just been through.

“It’s okay,” Thorin replied gently, focusing on evening out his breathing. “Bilbo… I… I don’t know what to say… I’m really rubbish at this… Please… please just tell me what you need me to do… Anything you want, I'll do it.”

There was another pause, and then Bilbo spoke, his voice quiet but steady: “Leave me.”

At first Thorin thought Bilbo meant he wanted him to hang up, to leave him alone, but then the true meaning of the statement hit him with the icy force of a wave, and he was left stunned, with a shard once again twisting into his stomach.

“I… I can’t do that, Bilbo,” Thorin said, his voice no more than a whisper, and he could feel a single, burning tear sliding down his left cheek.

“You said ‘anything’,” came Bilbo’s pained response, and it was almost too much for Thorin.

“Is… that really what you want?” Thorin tried not to choke on a breath as his vision grew blurry. “You want… me to leave?”

There was a muffled sound at the other end of the phone, and then Bilbo spoke again: “… No.”

Thorin could feel his shoulders sag with relief, but it only seemed to make his eyes burn with more tears as his heart throbbed in his chest. “Please… Please don’t ever ask… me that again,” Thorin said, and he was sure he hadn’t moved the phone far enough away to avoid Bilbo hearing the shuddering cry that left him. “I won’t do it, Bilbo… I won’t…”

A rustling followed by a low hiss seemed to suggest Bilbo was adjusting his position in the corner of the room. “I’m so tired, Thorin,” he said, voice heavy, and he certainly sounded it. “So tired…”

“I know,” Thorin replied softly. He was more than familiar with the brand of exhaustion Bilbo was referring to, and his heart continued to ache for him.

There was a muffled, choked sound, and then: “I hate that you’re not here anymore.”

Bilbo sounded tentative, as if he had been restraining himself, as if he knew this wasn’t something he was ‘supposed’ to say, but Lord knows Thorin had been thinking it along with Bilbo ever since he was discharged.

“I miss you all the time… and every time you leave it’s like I’m reliving your discharge all over again… I hate that you can’t spend the night… and I hate you sometimes for leaving me here… and now I hate myself for telling you that.”

Thorin stayed silent whilst Bilbo vented his frustrations. As much as they hurt, he didn’t begrudge him any of his feelings… He understood all of them, and he couldn’t bear to think about how he would have fared had their positions been reversed.

“It’s okay,” Thorin murmured, his tone soothing. “It’s okay.”

It wasn’t okay, but Thorin couldn’t quite find the words to beg Bilbo to stop hating himself and understand that he never needed to apologise to him for this.

“It’s not,” Bilbo replied miserably. “God, I’m so fucking broken, Thorin…”

Thorin sucked in a deep breath through his nose. “I’m broken too,” he said quietly.

And it was true: he had been a truly broken man when he first met Bilbo. They had fallen in love whilst broken and Thorin vaguely wondered if the universe, by bringing them into each other’s orbit, seemed to think that two broken people together made something good and whole.

“Yeah? Well, thanks to my left wrist I am _literally_ broken,” Bilbo said, with a snort.

Unexpectedly, Thorin smiled. “You just laughed,” he said slyly.

“You caught me,” Bilbo replied, his voice suddenly sounding lighter, although there was still an undercurrent of pain there. “So yes, I’m broken, you’re broken, everything’s fucking broken… But I’ve just decided it’s too early for metaphorical bollocks.”

“Okay.” Thorin shifted on the bed, allowing them a moment of quiet before he started to hesitantly push the issue again. “Do you think you’re ready to let Dr. Grey look at your wrist?”

There was a long pause, in which Thorin thought he’d just sent Bilbo rushing back inside himself, but then the younger man replied: “I think so.”

Thorin exhaled slowly, relief once again seeping through him.

“They’ll have to knock me out to set my wrist… and afterwards probably,” Bilbo said, his voice sounding small. “…Will you be there when I wake up in the morning?”

“Of course,” Thorin answered firmly. “I’ll make sure of it.”

There was a pause and Thorin thought he heard other voices on the line. “I think Gandalf wants his phone back now.”

“Okay,” Thorin said, his fingers tightening around his own phone, as if he wasn’t ready to let go. “I promise I’ll be there when you wake up… and Bilbo?”

“Hm?”

“I…I really do love you,” Thorin whispered, screwing up his eyes again as they began to sting. He wanted to say a million other things: I miss you too, I’ll never leave, I wish I could make you better… but this would have to do for now.

“I really do love you too,” Bilbo replied, and Thorin could hear the smile in his voice. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“See you tomorrow.” It sounded so much like their usual goodbye, and that only made the ache continue its gnawing inside Thorin’s chest.

There was rustling and more voices, sounding close. Thorin stayed on the line, listening, just in case something happened. Suddenly there was a click, and then Rosie’s voice sounded at the other end of the line: “Hey, Thorin… It’s Rosie. How are we doing?”

Thorin tried to reply, but the noise he made in response wasn’t exactly reassuring.

“Okay,” the nurse said warmly. “Give Dain a squeeze and take a few deep breaths for me.”

Reaching up to scratch Dain’s ears, Thorin inhaled a shaky breath as the reality of everything that had just happened slowly began to sink in. Dain licked at his fingers, nudging into his hand, trying, valiantly, to keep his thoughts from straying into dark places.

“What’s happening now?” Thorin asked, straining his ears again, trying to hear Bilbo’s voice.

“We’re just getting Bilbo prepped for his trip down to Radiology,” Rosie explained. “The guys down there will take some x-rays to figure out what and where the break is, set the break, and then we’ll get him back to bed.”

Thorin swallowed, that all sounded routine and achievable… although he knew the setting of his wrist would be very unpleasant for Bilbo. “I… er, I promised Bilbo I’d be there when he wakes up,” Thorin said, drawing in another deep breath. “Should I come to the hospital? Dis will drive me.”

“Bilbo’s going to be getting some pretty strong pain relief, and we’ll be giving him a sedative when he’s back on the ward, so I don’t think he’ll be awake for another five or six hours,” Rosie answered carefully, there was some low murmuring in the background and then the nurse added: “Dr. Grey tells me you have a session at nine, but you’re more than welcome to come in for eight so you can spend some time with Bilbo.”

“Okay,” Thorin said, letting out a sigh. “Thank you.”

There was a moment’s pause, and then Rosie said: “You did really well, Thorin.”

Thorin shuffled against his pillows, hand reaching for Dain again. “I didn’t do anything,” he mumbled.

“Yes, you did,” Rosie replied evenly. “You did something no one here could do… Honestly, Bilbo’s whole body language changed as soon as he started speaking to you. He was smiling a lot too by the end, but you didn’t hear that from me.”

Thorin’s lips twitched at that. “Thanks, Rosie.”

“No problem. Now, you need to go and find either Dis or Fili and get them to make you a cup of tea. Have a little chat and a hug, and then try and get some more rest before you come in at eight.”

“Is that doctor’s orders?” Thorin asked wryly.

“No, it’s nurse’s orders, so you better follow through with them.”

Thorin was definitely smiling now. “Okay… You will ring me, if… if anything happens?”

“Of course, and I’ll make sure Dr. Grey sends you a couple of texts to keep you updated. Now, you need to go and get your tea. I’ll see you soon, Thorin.”

“See you soon.”

With that, Thorin hung up. His arm fell down limply at his side, fingers still wrapped around the phone. He wasn’t sure how long he had been staring up at the ceiling when he heard the floorboards creak outside his door. He thought he had heard someone outside his room earlier, but he had been too preoccupied to question it. As it turned out, both Fili and Kili were away for the night at respective sleep-overs so he and Dis had just had a quiet night in.

Dain’s ears were twitching as he looked towards the door, and Thorin was about to call out to his sister when the door slid open and Dis slipped into the room. She fiddled with the cord of her light blue dressing gown as she came to his side.

“Hi, love,” she murmured, perching on the edge of the bed by his hand.

Thorin wasn’t sure how much of the phone call she had heard, so he inhaled as deeply as his shivering lungs would let him. “Bilbo… had another episode,” he said, trying to stop his voice from trembling. “He’s broken his wrist, so they’re just taking him down to Radiology now.”

“Alright.” Dis’ hand inched closer to his on the bed.

“Would you be able to take me to the hospital for eight? I… I want to be there when he wakes up.”

“Of course, I’ll drive you in, no problem.”

Thorin nodded, his gaze returning to the ceiling. The panic was receding now… only to be replaced by other unpleasant feelings of despair and frustration at the unfairness of the whole situation.

“Do you want a cigarette?”

Thorin looked across at Dis in surprise. “What?”

“You look like you need one,” Dis said, her expression warm but still inscrutable.

“But… you don’t smoke?”

“Well, it’s nice to know Fili is keeping some of my secrets,” Dis mused. “I’m trying to quit: cut myself down to one a month… and I still have a few left in my emergency packet.”

“I wouldn’t be depriving you?” Thorin asked, managing a half-smile. It wasn’t a cup of tea, but he hoped Rosie would forgive him.

“No, I’ll have one with you. We can go and sit on the back doorstep, act like disillusioned twenty-somethings again.”

“Okay.”

After Dain had climbed off his chest, Thorin sat up and straightened out his pyjama top. It was a warm night, and so he decided against grabbing a jacket as Dis led the way out of his room and downstairs. Through the kitchen window, Thorin noted the blood-red streak on the eastern horizon. It quickly filtered out into the deep navy of the night sky. Although there were few clouds, not many stars could be seen against the blue.

Dis opened up the back door and Thorin moved to join her. They settled next to each other on the wide stone step and Thorin urged Dain to use this time to do his business in the garden. Arranging her dressing gown over her crossed legs, Dis pulled a packet of JPS from the pocket, along with a plastic lighter.

“Menthol okay?” she asked, opening the packet and offering it to Thorin.

“Fine.”

Thorin carefully slid out a cigarette and held it between his lips whilst Dis lit the end. She then lit up herself, blowing an impressive cloud of smoke out into the garden. Thorin took a long drag, breathing smoke out through his nostrils. Maladaptive coping behaviour, that’s what Bilbo had called it when they escaped to the leafy terrace of Esgaroth Coffee House. That Lambert & Butler, courtesy of Haldir, had been his last cigarette… smoked to celebrate a job well done.

_I hate that you’re not here anymore… I miss you all the time… and every time you leave it’s like I’m reliving your discharge all over again…_

Bilbo’s voice rang out in Thorin’s head, and the ache returned to his chest, wrapping itself around his heart. He took another drag on his cigarette, trying to force his mind into the present as he watched Dain snuffling in the bushes by the oak tree.

_I hate that you can’t spend the night… and I hate you sometimes for leaving me here… and now I hate myself for telling you that…_

Thorin closed his eyes, silently begging the voice to stop: his heart couldn’t take it.

“Thorin?”

Dis was studying him with concern, her cigarette held delicately between two fingers. Thorin lowered his own cigarette, staring at the grey expanse of paving beneath his bare feet. It was all too much, and he was lost… he had no idea what to do. Maybe, just maybe his wise little sister who had weathered so much of her own heartbreak would have the answer.

“What am I supposed to do?” Thorin asked quietly. “What am I supposed to do when loving him isn’t enough? When loving him won’t make him better?”

The pain had been evident in Thorin’s voice and now it was reflected back at him in Dis’ expression. He knew his questioning wasn’t fair to her. He felt like a child who had brought one of his toys, smashed to pieces, and presented it to her, expecting her to fix it.

Dis’ clear blue eyes studied him for a long time, her lips fighting against a grimace, and then she replied, her tone unexpectedly gentle: “You keep loving him. Even if it isn’t enough and it won’t make him better, you keep on loving him no matter what… Sometimes it’s the only thing you can do.”

Thorin’s eyes were stinging again. It might not have been the answer he was hoping for, but it was still something to hold onto… Keep on loving him no matter what. He could definitely do that. Dain returned to his side and licked at his free hand before sitting down between his knees. Thorin scratched at the Labrador’s ears, his eyes following Dis as she leaned down and stubbed her cigarette out on the paving stone by her foot. She then discreetly disposed of the extinguished butt in the plant pot to her right, but Thorin didn’t miss the hand she lifted to her eyes, and suddenly something clicked.

“You’re thinking about Dad?” he said, watching Dis carefully as she turned back to face him.

Dis wrapped her arms around herself. “Yes… Things were, well, they were quite difficult… towards the end.”

Thorin’s stomach knotted itself and he shifted closer to Dain, gaze falling to inspect his chocolate brown fur.

“Shit,” Dis muttered. “Thorin, sweetheart, we don’t have to talk about this… I’m sorry, now isn’t the time.”

“No, it’s alright.” He and Dis hadn’t spoken properly about their father since his funeral. It was a conversation that needed to happen, and perhaps it would be a good way to draw his attention away from the present. His cigarette had extinguished itself, so he pressed the blackened end into the stone at his side, and then looked back at Dis. “Tell me.”

Dis considered him for a few moments, straightening the fabric of her dressing gown over her knee. “There were good days and bad days, I suppose,” she said, her smile pensive. “He talked about you a lot.”

Thorin managed a smile. “Moaning about me, was he?”

“Not at all,” Dis grinned. “He had a framed picture of you on his bedside table and he kept showing it to the care home nurses, trying to set you up.”

“Well, that was nice of him. Did I get any takers?”

“Oh yes, quite a few. Your photograph broke a lot of hearts.”

Thorin and Dis shared a soft chuckle, unconsciously leaning into each other on the step.

“Kili confused him sometimes,” Dis continued, after a few moments of reflective silence. “Dad thought he was you, kept calling him ‘Thorin’, but Kili played along… the two of them got on like a house on fire.”

Dis was smiling to herself now, and Thorin was glad to see her looking so content when they were discussing their dad. There was more red streaked in the sky now and the yellow of the dawn was seeping through in the east. He studied the skyline for a long time, thoughts of his father and Bilbo swirling around his head, but finally he turned back to Dis.

“I’m glad he had you there, at the end,” Thorin said quietly, feeling his heart throb again.

Dis’ eyes were shining, but still she smiled as she reached across and squeezed Thorin’s hand. Thorin squeezed back, returning her smile, glad he had her with him too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *hands out chocolate biscuits* 
> 
> *runs away*


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I believe a few of you were after a bit of cuddling…
> 
> Also: Boromir lives! 
> 
> Warning: There are some brief mentions of homophobia and one homophobic slur in the second half of this chapter.

The ward was noticeably quiet as Thorin was buzzed through the doors. It had been almost a month since he was here this early, and he had almost forgotten what the hospital was like before all the patients had stirred and the last of the night staff had trickled off home. Dain, too, seemed unnerved by the morning hush, and his eyes darted to and fro as he kept pace at Thorin’s side. He was met at the nurses’ station by Radagast, who offered him a gentle smile which was lacking its usual glee as he handed over a visitor badge. Thorin found himself wishing the nurse would make some kind of insufferable comment, just so he would feel like his visit today was like any other… and not under such miserable circumstances.

“He’s just starting to come round,” Radagast explained. “He’ll be quite groggy and disorientated… so be gentle with him.”

The soft smile flickered to a grin, and it made Thorin feel a little better.

“Let me know if you need anything, anything at all.”

Radagast collected a file from the desk, implying he wasn’t going to detain Thorin further, and so he excused himself with a nod and, slipping his visitor badge into his jeans pocket, he headed towards Bilbo’s room. Dr. Grey had texted him three times since he hung up the phone in the early hours of the morning: once to confirm that Bilbo had fractured his radius, and although the fracture would need setting, no surgery would be necessary; the second text let him know that Bilbo’s fracture had been set successfully, and the third and final text assured him that Bilbo was back in his own bed, heavily medicated, but sleeping soundly.

And that was where Thorin found him now. Bilbo was lying on his back in the middle of the bed, his face pale and his eyelids flickering. He was wearing his grey Birmingham hoodie, but coming to his side, Thorin immediately clocked the white cast hidden beneath the left sleeve: it covered half of Bilbo’s hand, separating his thumb from his fingers, which were twitching on the bedsheets as the younger man slowly returned to consciousness.

Unclipping Dain’s lead and hanging it over the chair arm behind him, Thorin urged the Labrador to lie down on the floor. He then perched on the edge of the bed, leaning over Bilbo, who was beginning to mumble something inaudible, although his eyes remained closed. Confronted with the cast, Thorin found himself reluctant to take Bilbo’s hand for fear of hurting him, even though he was desperate to twine their fingers together. Doing something radical, like moving to the other side of the bed – the side he had been relegated to when Graham dropped by – seemed out of the question: ridiculous as it seemed, Thorin was determined to minimise the signs that this visit was out of the ordinary. Instead, he reached out and carefully smoothed Bilbo’s curls away from his face, thumb gently rubbing his forehead.

Bilbo stirred then, his eyes fluttering open and he blinked up at Thorin, brow furrowed. His gaze was unfocused, but seemed somewhat determined in searching out Thorin’s face.

“Morning,” Thorin whispered, stroking Bilbo’s forehead again, trying to ignore the heavy thump of his heart.

Bleary eyes suddenly brightening, as if with recognition, Bilbo let out a long breath. “You’re here,” he said, his voice thick.

“I promised I’d be here when you woke up,” Thorin replied softly. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to Bilbo’s forehead, hand sliding down to cup his cheek.

Bilbo nuzzled into the hand, his eyes sliding shut. “Nice,” he mumbled thoughtfully.

Thorin wasn’t sure exactly what Bilbo was referring to, but he’d take it. He knew Bilbo was very probably only being this placid and agreeable because of the cocktail of drugs in his system, but part of him was very glad to see his expression free from pain, his body language relaxed as he emerged from sleep. He tried not to think about the fact that this state wasn’t going to last.

“Can I get you anything?” Thorin asked quietly, thumb rubbing Bilbo’s cheek as he edged closer to him on the bed.

Bilbo’s eyes slowly opened again and he studied Thorin for a few moments. He then lifted his left hand, movements a little clumsy as his fingers trailed Thorin’s plaid shirt sleeve. He registered the unusual weight with groggy alarm, eyes narrowing at the white cast which was peeking out from his sleeve, and Thorin stiffened. But then the animosity simply vanished, and Bilbo's fingers continued their search of Thorin’s arm. Thorin hunched further forward, not wanting Bilbo to over-exert himself, wondering what it was that he was after. He was about to point out that unfortunately he wasn’t a mind reader when Bilbo’s fingers moved from his shoulder to his beard, and he ran his forefinger over Thorin’s jaw.

“I like your beard,” Bilbo stated, fingers continuing to trace Thorin’s facial hair with interest.

“Okay,” Thorin replied, unable to stop himself from chuckling. “I’m glad you do.” His hand slipped back up to Bilbo’s forehead, discreetly checking for any clamminess or fever, but his skin was dry and fairly cool: so it wasn’t delirium speaking… just the medication, then.

“But that isn’t really an answer to my question,” Thorin pressed, smiling.

Bilbo’s fingers moved back to Thorin’s arm, tightening to a loose clutch at his elbow. Thorin was worried that the action might aggravate Bilbo’s wrist, but no pain showed in his face, only a look of longing.

“Want you in bed,” Bilbo said, his speech slurred as he looked up at Thorin with a glazed, but dogged stare.

Thorin choked, but it quickly turned into a laugh at Bilbo’s assertiveness.  “Yes, sir,” he grinned.

Turning away so he could see to his shoes, he heard Bilbo let out a low whine behind him and the fingers tightened on his sleeve.

“Hey,” Thorin murmured. “I’m just taking my shoes off, I’m not going anywhere.”

Bilbo relaxed his grip at that, but his expression was serious and it clearly said: you better not be. Kicking off his shoes beside Dain, Thorin slipped his phone from his jeans pocket and placed it on the bedside table. He also pulled off his beanie and dropped it onto the chair next to the bed: cuddling could get warm and sweaty hair wasn’t very becoming on him. Using his free hand to flatten down a few black spikes, he swung his legs up onto the bed and turned on his side to face Bilbo, who shuffled closer.

“I… I don’t want to hurt your wrist,” Thorin explained hesitantly, when he didn’t move, worried about squashing Bilbo’s cast between them.

He could practically feel Bilbo shrug. “S’already broken.”

Yes, alright, smart-arse, Thorin thought, but didn’t voice aloud. He wasn’t sure what to suggest, but then Bilbo was turning away from him, lying on his side with his good arm under him.

“Spoons,” he declared, shuffling back into Thorin’s chest.

Thorin wrapped his arm around Bilbo’s waist, carefully pulling the younger man back against him. “Spoons,” he agreed, with a smile.

He leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to Bilbo’s neck, just below his ear. Bilbo hummed and twisted his head so he could see Thorin’s face. Before Thorin had chance to pull away, Bilbo’s lips were pressed against his, and they exchanged a few lazy kisses.

“I love you,” Thorin whispered, when Bilbo turned away, resting his head back on the pillow.

Bilbo hummed again, wriggling back and placing his cast-covered arm over Thorin’s at his waist. “Love you.”

With Bilbo safely tucked against his chest, Thorin felt the siren song of sleep calling. After a second cigarette, Dis had sent him back to bed, but he hadn’t slept – not properly anyway. He had slipped in and out of light, uneasy dreams, waiting for his phone to ring again. Bilbo’s breathing had slowed now, and Thorin was sure he had drifted back into unconsciousness… perhaps he could do the same. After the chaos of last night, he was thankful for these quiet, intimate moments, and so he pressed his nose into Bilbo’s curls and willingly let sleep pull him under again.

 

It was an odd scratching sound that woke him. Slowly opening his eyes, Thorin started when he found Dr. Grey standing by the bed. The doctor was scribbling in Bilbo’s chart, but he looked up when Thorin raised himself onto one elbow, and his scratchy pen stilled on the page.

“Good morning, Thorin,” Dr. Grey said, his voice little more than a whisper.

Thorin grunted in response, which would have probably earned a slap on his arm from Bilbo, had the younger man not still been asleep at his side. He was careful not to rouse him, keeping one arm draped over his waist: as drugged up as Bilbo was, Thorin still wasn’t sure he would react well to being woken up. He glanced at the clock above the doorway: it was half past nine.

“Our session,” Thorin said, keeping his voice low.

“Ah, yes, well I’m having quite a busy morning,” Dr. Grey replied, moving to the end of the bed to return the chart to the box there. “I would like to move our session to this afternoon, but only if this is agreeable to you?”

Thorin eyed the doctor warily. “I can stay with Bilbo until then?”

“Of course,” Dr. Grey smiled. “I believe Radagast is on his way with breakfast.”

“I’ll text Dis.”

Thorin moved to retrieve his phone from the bedside table, but Dr. Grey stopped him: “Not to worry, Dis has been notified already of the changes.”

Oh. Thorin settled back down at Bilbo’s side. The doctor was turning away towards the door when Thorin spoke again: “Dr. Grey?”

Dr. Grey paused, the look in his blue eyes curious, but seemingly unsurprised. “Yes?”

Thorin wasn’t sure what made him ask it. Perhaps it was a mixture of sleep-deprivation and having woken from such a recent sleep, perhaps it was the months spent not knowing and his discovery that sometimes asking the questions he dreaded answers to didn’t always turn out to be as painful as anticipated.

“Will Bilbo ever be able to leave the hospital?”

Dr. Grey took a while to reply, clearly weighing up his response, and Thorin’s stomach began to knot itself.

“That, my dear Thorin, is not for us to decide.”

It was a cryptic reply, but the doctor’s blue gaze flickered to Bilbo as he spoke. Frustrated by this response, Thorin opened his mouth to all-but demand an explanation, but before a syllable passed his lips, Dr. Grey excused himself and swiftly disappeared from the room. Thorin stared after him, eyes fixed on the doorway, trying to understand what it was the doctor was trying to say.

It was a soft noise of distress that drew his attentions back to the bed. Bilbo was stirring, and he seemed to be very unhappy with the distance Thorin had put between them, small as it was. He rolled onto his back, sleepy grey-green eyes peering around the room.

“Thorin?” he mumbled, voice raspy.

“Shhh…” Thorin soothed, one hand returning to Bilbo’s forehead. “I’m still here.” He wondered if Bilbo would be more lucid, now that he had slept off some of the medication.

Bilbo lifted his left hand to Thorin’s face, studying him intently. “I like your beard.”

Ah, well that answered that question then. Thorin grinned and turned his face into Bilbo’s hand so he could press a kiss to his palm. This only made Bilbo grin too, and the look on his face was, frankly, adorable. It almost made Thorin forget Dr. Grey’s pronouncement altogether.

“Morning, chaps!”

Radagast appeared in the room, carrying a plate of buttered toast cut into small triangles in one hand, a napkin in the other. Another nurse followed him in, although they only discreetly placed a pot of medication on the over-bed table before returning to the ward. Radagast deposited Bilbo’s breakfast next to the pot and moved the table further up the bed.

“First breakfast and second breakfast for you, Bilbo,” Radagast said cheerfully.

Thorin wondered if wishing Radagast back to his old, endlessly enthusiastic self had been a bad idea.

Bilbo lifted his head and eyed the plate with reproach. “There’s no bacon… or sausage.”

“Your stomach is going to be a bit delicate this morning,” Radagast explained patiently. “We don’t want you making yourself sick.”

Bilbo’s eyes followed Radagast as he went to pour him a glass of water; he seemed to be attempting a glare, but didn’t quite have the strength for it. Thorin wondered if another reason for the bite-size pieces of toast was that they wouldn’t require a knife and fork – and both hands – to eat.

“Time for first breakfast,” Radagast prompted, moving closer to the bed.

Thorin expected Bilbo to protest, but instead he seemed intent on pulling himself up. The issue was that he accidentally put his weight onto his injured wrist and quickly hissed in a breath, collapsing back onto the bed with a groan. Radagast reached out to help, but Thorin shot him a black look and he withdrew again.

“Try putting your weight onto your right hand,” Thorin coached gently, one hand coming to rest on Bilbo’s shoulder. “Want to try again?”

Bilbo’s look of misery faded at Thorin’s encouraging smile, and he nodded. This second attempt was more successful: as Bilbo pushed up again, Thorin’s hand moved to his back, guiding him forward. He kept it there, rubbing a few circles into Bilbo’s hoodie, as he studied the pot on the table before him.

“Where’s your medication?” Bilbo asked, looking to Thorin with concern.

Thorin’s heart withered slightly. “Oh… I, er, I’ve already taken mine.” It was the truth: he had taken his morning medication before he left the house. He wasn’t sure if Bilbo, locked in his post-sedative haze, was under the impression that he was still an inpatient, and part of him really didn’t want to destroy this illusion… not after everything he had confessed last night.

It was a tense few moments, but Bilbo seemed satisfied with this answer and he reached for his own medication. Shoulders sagging, Thorin took this opportunity to check on Dain. The Labrador was curled up on the floor by the bed, but when he caught Thorin studying him he quickly roused himself and nuzzled into his outstretched hand, licking at his fingers with earnest.

“Would you like anything, Thorin?”

Thorin turned back to find Radagast smiling at him. It would be cruel to order a Full English when Bilbo was being deprived; he was also glad Dis had pushed a mug of coffee into his hand before they left the house this morning, and so he shook his head. “I’m fine, thanks. I’ll just steal some of Bilbo’s toast.”

“You can try,” Bilbo said, flashing Thorin a lop-sided smirk, sounding almost like his usual self.

“Right, well I’ll leave you boys to it, then,” Radagast said fondly. “Let me know if you change your mind, Thorin.”

Radagast’s dismissal of himself was fairly painless and Thorin, once again, focused his attentions on Bilbo. He was going to make a snarky comment about him not wanting to share his breakfast when he noticed Bilbo had gone very still and was looking pale.

“Bilbo?” Thorin murmured, stroking his back.

Bilbo frowned in response, his good hand coming up to gingerly touch his temple. He seemed confused by his body’s reaction and was struggling to process what exactly was wrong.

“Do you feel sick?” Thorin asked, glancing towards the door, wondering if he should call Radagast back.

Bilbo shook his head. “Dizzy.”

“Okay, you need to lie back down.”

Thorin helped Bilbo to settle against his pillows, and he moved onto his side, facing Thorin, his cast-covered arm lying between them.

“Better?” Thorin squeezed Bilbo’s good hand.

Bilbo hummed an affirmative. He was studying Thorin again and then a hand started creeping towards his beard. Wanting to avoid Round Three of ‘Facial Hair Appreciation’, Thorin shuffled up onto his elbow, dodging Bilbo’s hand.

“Would you like some toast?”

Bilbo shifted on the bed, but Thorin placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“No, no, you stay put: I’m bringing the toast to you.”

Before reaching for the plate, Thorin first collected the napkin. He unfolded it and turned to Bilbo, beginning to carefully tuck it into his pyjama top. Bilbo let out a petulant whine and Thorin had to hide his smile. He knew he shouldn’t be finding this funny, but Bilbo was currently wearing a sulky look which any toddler would struggle to match.

“You’ll thank me in a couple of hours when there aren’t crumbs all over your bed,” Thorin told him, spreading the napkin out on his chest.

He sat up and slid the over-bed table closer to them. Selecting a triangle of toast from the plate, he lay back down on his side, still propped up by his elbow and held the toast out to Bilbo. Bilbo’s movements were still a little clumsy, but he managed to take the triangle in his good hand and begin nibbling on it. The words ‘Little Bunny’ came to Thorin’s mind, but he resisted the urge to say them out loud.

Bilbo polished off the first slice of toast fairly quickly and he didn’t whine when Thorin used the napkin to wipe his fingers before handing him another slice. Bilbo had only taken one small bite when Thorin’s stomach rumbled. It was a deep, ominous sound and Thorin felt his cheeks colour, but he decided not to comment. Bilbo, however, was staring at him with concern which looked almost painful. Thorin didn’t have time to reassure him before the piece of toast was flying towards his mouth with frightening speed. Luckily, he reacted in time and opened his mouth to take a bite. Bilbo continued to hold the triangle to his lips, not satisfied until Thorin had eaten almost half of it.

“This is like the start of a porn film,” Bilbo said suddenly, and Thorin choked on his last bite of toast.

Bilbo was staring at him, looking deadly serious, but Thorin couldn’t stop laughing. He almost wished his trilobite of a phone had a video function so that he could film Bilbo and show him later… although he supposed he probably wouldn’t appreciate it. Equally, if Bilbo seemed to find this situation sensual enough to be worthy of a porn film, maybe making a video wasn’t a good idea. From the calculating look in his eyes now, Thorin wasn’t sure if he was angry at him for laughing or if he was about to pounce on him right there in the bed.

“Finish your toast,” Thorin prompted, when he felt he could speak again without laughing.

Bilbo considered this for a moment, but then started to nibble on the remainder of the slice, although his gaze, which was more focused now, was still fixed on Thorin. Thorin kept an easy smile in place, watching him fondly as he finished the last bite. Bilbo’s eyes then turned to the fingers of his good hand, which were covered in crumbs with spots of melted butter.

“Here,” Thorin said gently, lifting the napkin and wiping his fingers clean again.

He was just dabbing at Bilbo’s thumb when he saw his left arm moving in the periphery of his vision, and feather-light fingers touched his cheek.

“I like your beard,” Bilbo said.

 

…

 

Thorin came to a stop when they reached the corner of Bond Street. His gaze travelled over the regimental banners in the windows of the AFCO just a short distance away, and his stomach shuddered.

“Don’t worry, we’re not going to walk you through the doors,” Dis said quietly, coming to his side.

As the AFCO was right in the middle of the city centre, Thorin would be able to commute easily from home using public transport. However, as it was his first day, Dis had offered to drive him in, deciding to drag Fili and Kili along for some back-to-school shopping. They had agreed to meet for lunch once Thorin was done for the morning.

“Do I… look alright?” Thorin asked, cringing at the nervousness in his voice. He reached up to adjust his khaki beret again: it was never going to cover his scar, but he wanted to make sure it was sitting right.

“You look very handsome,” Dis said, smiling.

Fili grinned and gave him a thumbs up, which seemed genuine: he was now able to distinguish her sincere approval from the sarcastic double thumbs up she had a habit of doing behind Dis’ back.

“You look really cool, Uncle Thorin,” Kili agreed, and his eyes had once again taken on the same round look as when he had first arrived downstairs in full uniform for breakfast.

Thorin had passed on his desire to be in uniform whilst working at the AFCO, and Lieutenant-Colonel Whitetree had suggested he opt for temperate combat dress. It was a lot more functional than any of his more ceremonial attire, and it made Thorin feel… protected. Putting on his uniform again after six months in civilian clothing had been a little unnerving at first: he had felt displaced, worried it might simply look like a costume.

However, it only took a few minutes of steady breathing for him to be at home again. Now the uniform felt like a suit of armour. He could see the change in people as he and Dain walked down the high street: the looks were no longer ones of curiosity… of pity.  Instead, he saw respect and approval reflected in people’s eyes. He also couldn’t deny the fact that several shoppers had seemed quite intimidated, and he wasn’t going to argue with that.

“Okay, it’s almost nine,” Dis said, looking to her wrist watch. “You don’t want to be late.”

Thorin nodded, his fingers tightening around Dain’s lead.

“Good luck,” Fili said, her grin softening to an encouraging smile, and Kili echoed her with his own wishes of luck.

Dis reached out and gave his arm a gentle squeeze. “We’ll meet you in front of Starbucks at twelve-thirty.”

“See you there,” Thorin replied, with another nod.

Sucking in a deep breath through his nose, Thorin turned away, not wanting to draw out his moment of departure any longer. He walked towards the AFCO with a resolute stride and then carefully pushed open the doors.

His posture immediately straightened when he spotted the Lieutenant-Colonel and Tom from Faramir’s support group standing behind a desk at the other end of the room. They moved around it in unison and came to meet him. Thorin gave the Lieutenant-Colonel a right-handed salute as he came to a stop in front of him: it was something else he hadn’t done in half a year, but the motion came naturally, like a reflex reaction.

Lieutenant-Colonel Whitetree returned the salute. “At ease, Captain Oakenshield,” he said, with a warm smile. “Welcome to Leeds AFCO.” The broad, South Yorkshire accent was unexpected, but it did help Thorin relax into the conversation.

“Thank you, Sir,” he said, surprised at the steadiness of his voice. He could feel himself reacting to his surroundings, his body language easily slipping into that of a soldier… as if he had never been away.

He turned to Tom, realising his attentions had been held by the Lieutenant-Colonel, who did cut a particularly commanding figure. He silently noted that the young soldier wasn’t in uniform. “Good to see you, Tom,” he said quietly.

As he had spent the majority of the past two days at the hospital with Bilbo, Thorin hadn’t had much time to look through his AFCO information pack. Last night, however, Dis had convinced him to sit down at the kitchen table and go through it. In a show of solidarity, Fili and Kili had come to join him with their last bits of holiday homework whilst Dis tapped away on her laptop, planning for the new term.

The pack had included a detailed staff list for the AFCO which explained that although Tom held the rank of lance corporal, he didn’t wish to be addressed as such. No reasons were given, but Thorin had an idea of what they might be. He knew this option had also been offered to him, but, like his uniform, he felt that retaining his title was just another layer of armour.

“And you, Captain,” Tom smiled, patting his golden retriever, Bungle, who had sat down at his side.

Thorin could feel Dain’s tail wagging at the sight of his friend, but the Labrador remained otherwise motionless beside him.

“Right, well, our first appointment isn’t until nine-thirty,” the Lieutenant-Colonel announced. “So I thought we might leave Tom to hold fort down here whilst we have a coffee upstairs, and I’ll introduce you to Captain Eorlingas.”

“Alright,” Thorin said, with a nod. He knew the Lieutenant-Colonel’s visits to the AFCO were fairly infrequent as his post at AFC Harrogate took up most of his time: Captain Eorlingas was in charge of the day to day running of the office.

“I would give you a tour,” the Lieutenant-Colonel continued. “But there isn’t really much to see: this is the main visitor area.” He gestured to the large room that contained an array of posters on its walls with a perimeter of tables covered in leaflets and information packs. “In the corner there we have a space for informal drop-ins.” He indicated a table with a cluster of chairs around it. “And just through there is the meeting room for scheduled appointments.” He pointed to a small room separated off from the main area which had clear glass windows so Thorin could see a more organised set-up of tables and chairs inside. “All that’s left is the staff room upstairs… Shall we?”

Thorin let the Lieutenant-Colonel lead the way up the narrow staircase. They pushed through a brown-painted door and, arriving in an open plan kitchen, were instantly greeted by Captain Eorlingas.

“Captain Oakenshield.” The younger captain saluted first, and Thorin quickly returned it. “I’ve just put the kettle on.”

Captain Eorlingas was blonde-haired with a darker, neatly trimmed moustache and beard. Thorin would have pitched him at about six or seven years younger than himself.

“Black, four sugars, please,” the Lieutenant-Colonel said pleasantly, looking to Thorin.

“Oh… Milk, no sugar,” Thorin said, and Captain Eorlingas nodded as he turned to the fridge.

The Lieutenant-Colonel waved Thorin over to one of the tables by the window. The staff room looked out onto the high street and peering down at the shoppers below, it seemed the city centre was just starting to get busy.

“I thought my sister had broken you out of your strange coffee habits,” Captain Eorlingas commented as he returned a bottle of milk to the fridge.

“She did,” the Lieutenant-Colonel replied, looking amused. “And I intend to return to what she deems appropriate coffee-drinking when she’s back on leave.”

Thorin was listening to this exchange with his brow furrowed, trying to figure out if the two officers were related… Could it be that the Lieutenant-Colonel was actually Captain Eorlingas’ brother-in-law?

“Equally, if you tell her about this particular cup of coffee,” the elder officer said, as the captain came to join them at the table. “I will have you court-martialled.”

Captain Eorlingas snorted, leaning back in his chair. Clocking Thorin’s baffled expression, he explained: “My sister, Eowyn – Corporal Whitetree – is married to the Lieutenant-Colonel’s brother, Faramir… She’s currently on a tour of duty in Afghanistan.”

“Oh,” Thorin said, trying to hide his surprise. He had heard people at the support group mention Faramir’s wife, but he had never cottoned onto the fact that she was serving in the Forces. “I didn’t realise.”

“Yes.” The Lieutenant-Colonel was wearing a wry smile. “Let’s just say Dr.Grey is quite an adept match-maker.”

Thorin tried not to choke into his coffee. Yes, he could definitely believe that.

They continued to drink their beverages of differing acceptability, discussing the various workings of the AFCO, from which sandwich shop was the best for lunch breaks to duty rotas. Although Thorin’s contributions to the conversation were fairly taciturn, he still found himself feeling more comfortable with a social situation than he had done in a long time. When nine-thirty rolled around, the three of them returned downstairs to meet their first prospective recruit. The Lieutenant-Colonel showed Thorin into the windowed room whilst Captain Eorlingas went to join Tom behind the main desk.

Thorin felt his anxiety creeping back in as the first eager-eyed teenager was shown into the room, but when it was clear that he really wasn’t expected to say anything at all, he managed to relax into the proceedings.

Over the course of the morning, they saw a steady stream of school-leavers, some heralding from military families, others who seemed to be turning to the Forces because they really didn’t know what else they wanted to do with their adult lives. Thorin maintained his role as a silent observer and although there were a few curious glances in Dain’s direction, none of the potential applicants made any comment. Thorin suspected that might have been down to, what Fili had recently dubbed, his ‘grumpy resting face’. He wasn’t aiming to be purposefully intimidating, but he wasn’t going to try and invite active conversation either. That being said, he did admire the Lieutenant-Colonel’s easy, approachable manner with the teenagers and Thorin made sure he took note of all the information and advice he offered: after all, this was to be his role in a matter of weeks.

“Our final candidate is an intriguing one,” the Lieutenant-Colonel said, when they had bade farewell to a particularly hopeless seventeen-year-old who was only considering joining up as a last resort.

“Oh?” Thorin asked, one eyebrow raised.

“She seems very keen, very clever too.”

Thorin was handed a copy of this intriguing candidate’s CV, along with a cover letter and a reference: some of their aspiring soldiers had brought CVs with them, but this was the first time Thorin had been handed any paperwork beforehand. He only had time to read that the girl’s name was Heather Fairbairn, before Heather herself was shown into the room. The Lieutenant-Colonel gestured for her to take a seat at the table in front of them.

“Glad you could make it, Heather,” the older officer said, smiling. “I’m Lieutenant-Colonel Whitetree and this is Captain Oakenshield.”

Heather returned the smile and took a seat at the table with a quiet ‘Hello’. She was wearing a floral summer dress with a leather jacket, and her white-blonde hair was fashioned into a pixie-cut. Thorin noted the thin silver nose-ring and her impeccable eye make-up which matched the midnight colour of her nails. Heather’s appearance seemed to be made up of all sorts of contrasting elements that would have clashed on anybody else, but she made them work with little effort. There was something distinctly Fili-ish about her and it made Thorin sit forward.

“Thank you for sending us your CV in advance,” the Lieutenant-Colonel began. “And congratulations on a solid set of GCSE results.”

“Thanks,” Heather said, looking pleased, if not a little embarrassed.

“So, Heather, this meeting is really a very informal one,” the Lieutenant-Colonel continued. “It in no way counts towards your application, should you end up deciding to submit one: it’s just a chance for us to answer any of your questions and to give you some more information about life in the Forces.”

Heather smiled, her eyes flitting to Thorin for a split second. “Okay.”      

The Lieutenant-Colonel turned to Heather’s cover letter. “You’re looking to join the Corps of Royal Engineers?”

“Yeah, my dad’s a mechanic, owns a garage in Headingley, and I’ve been working there for… well, for a few years,” Heather explained. “I, um, I’ve always been good at fixing things… ever since I was little.”

“And now you’re interested in fixing tanks?” the Lieutenant-Colonel said, with an approving smile.

“I think so,” Heather replied quietly.  

“Well, I have an information pack here for you with a few bits and pieces about the Corps and the application process.”

The Lieutenant-Colonel retrieved a thick plastic wallet from the pile on the floor next to him and handed it to Heather, who took it with a murmured word of thanks.

“I’m guessing your dad would be happy to take you on at the garage? Do you mind if I ask why you would rather join the Armed Forces?”

Thorin sensed that the Lieutenant-Colonel was going to be playing Devil’s Advocate: he’d noticed him asking trickier questions in their other meetings, trying to get their teenage applicants to think about what they really wanted from the army.

“Yeah, I know my dad wants me to work at the garage full-time,” Heather answered, seeming unfazed by the questioning. “But… I just want more than that, for myself, you know? I don’t want to spend the rest of my life under a car in Headingley… It’s not enough.”

Heather’s gaze was pensive and she was staring into a spot on the table in front of her.

“Fixing cars and bikes is alright… but it doesn’t really mean anything. Well, it does to the people who own them, but then that’s it. I want to do something that matters… something that really means something.”

The Lieutenant-Colonel sat back in his chair, looking genuinely impressed. Thorin couldn’t deny that he, too, was impressed by Heather’s reasoning. Out of all the potential recruits they had seen that morning, she was one he thought he could really begin to root for.

“A very positive attitude to have, Heather,” the Lieutenant-Colonel said, and he was smiling again. He studied her covering letter for a moment, before asking: “And are your family supportive of your decision to join the Forces?”

Thorin guessed Heather’s comment about her father wanting her to work full-time at the garage had prompted this question.

“My dad wasn’t at first,” Heather admitted. “He didn’t really understand why the garage wasn’t enough for me… But then my brother talked him round, said he’d take over the running of the place when it got too much for him, pointed out Dad should be proud of me for wanting to join up... So, yeah, my brother’s been really great about it and my dad seems okay now.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” the Lieutenant-Colonel replied.

He then picked up Heather’s CV, his eyes scanning the page for a few moments. Thorin could see Heather looking a little nervous again and when she accidentally caught his eye, he managed an awkward smile which he hoped wasn’t too terrifying. Heather seemed surprised, but still offered a smile of her own.

“Returning to your GCSE results, one option I want to make you aware of is that the Army will support you should you decide to go on and do any A-levels or BTECs first… We don’t want you to miss out on further education when you’re clearly a bright student.”

Heather’s whole body language changed. She went rigid in her chair, eyes a little wide and her jaw set.

“I… I’d rather not go back to school,” she said quietly. “If that’s okay?”

The Lieutenant-Colonel’s brow was furrowed, his expression serious. “Yes, that’s fine.”

Heather clearly knew the question he wanted to ask, and so she added: “I’ve had ‘dyke’ yelled at me enough times… I’m kind of over it now.”

Thorin flinched, and the little windowed room was suddenly charged with tension. The Lieutenant-Colonel was looking very solemn now, and this obviously wasn’t helping Heather’s agitation.

“Sorry… I’m sorry,” she whispered, her face pale. “I… I shouldn’t have said that… It’s just when I think about it I get angry and I… don’t think about what I’m saying…”

“I understand,” the Lieutenant-Colonel said, his voice gentle and his expression softening.

“And… the, er, _the ban_ that was lifted in 2000… It’s still, er, lifted, right?” Heather brought her hands up to her face. “I’m sorry… I’m being an idiot.”

Realising the meaning behind Heather’s words, Thorin felt his chest tighten. He held a hand out for Dain and the Labrador instantly dragged himself up off the floor and licked at Thorin’s hand.

“Heather, I need you to take a deep breath for me,” the Lieutenant-Colonel said, his tone kind but firm.

Heather did as he asked, her shoulders rising and falling with the breath, and she brought her hands down to rest under her chin. Thorin felt himself taking a breath with her.

“The Armed Forces no longer discriminate based on sexual orientation, so this won’t affect your joining up in any way,” the Lieutenant-Colonel explained. “Equally, we operate a zero tolerance policy on bullying and harassment, so should such vulgar language be used against you in the future it will be dealt with swiftly and severely.”

Heather nodded. “Okay… that, er, that sounds good.” She looked down into her lap, fidgeting with the chipped polish on her thumb. “So… I can be like… ‘out’ and it won’t be a problem?”

“My boyfriend was in the Intelligence Corps for seven years: he was openly gay, and it wasn’t an issue.”

Thorin started at the sound of his own voice. It sounded somehow detached from him, but still he knew he had just spoken… and he had no idea where he had found the courage to do so. Heather had almost jumped out of the chair when he spoke, but now she was staring at him in nothing short of awe, her eyes wide, as if she was suddenly seeing him in a new light.

“That… that’s awesome,” she said, and then she was grinning.

Thorin’s heart felt like it was beating right out of his chest, and his fingers moved to tangle in the soft fur of Dain’s neck. He couldn’t believe he had actually contributed to the meeting; he also couldn’t believe that he had just spoken openly about his sexuality for the first time whilst in uniform. But there was something about Heather that was so endearing that he had wanted to do something to help her… Perhaps it was because she reminded him of Fili, perhaps it was because she reminded him of himself.

“I would like you to take a look at this website, Heather,” the Lieutenant-Colonel said, reaching for a piece of notepaper and pen on the desk. He wrote down a web address at the top of the page. “It offers information and support for LGBT+ service personnel and members of the LGBT+ community seeking to join the forces.”

“Oh, cool.” Heather was peering across the desk, trying to read the address upside down as the Lieutenant-Colonel didn’t seem to be finished. Thorin found his own eyes wandering to the page, trying to decipher the soldier’s handwriting.

“I would also like to put you in touch with a contact I have in the Royal Engineers.” He began writing some details down below the address. “She’s an old friend of mine who will be able to offer you both pastoral support and help with your application.” Setting his pen down, the Lieutenant-Colonel passed the sheet of note-paper to Heather.

“Thanks,” Heather said, smiling as she quickly looked over the information. “Honestly, thank you… I’m sorry I… er, freaked a bit before.”

“That’s quite alright,” the Lieutenant-Colonel replied. “You’re a very promising candidate, Heather. The only issue I will mention is that this.” He tapped the side of his nose. “Will, unfortunately, have to come out before you start your training.”

“Oh.” Heather reached up to self-consciously fiddle with her nose ring. “Right… Sorry.”

“Not to worry,” the Lieutenant-Colonel assured her. “I had to take my earring out.”

“Helix piercing,” Thorin commented, and his heart jolted again… Two comments in two minutes? He was being very talkative this morning.

Heather was looking at him with even more interest, and so Thorin managed a smile, hoping the heat he could feel creeping into his cheeks wasn’t actually showing in his face.

“So, Heather, I will ask my colleague to contact you early next week and the two of you will probably schedule another appointment here so you can go through the application process,” the Lieutenant-Colonel said, sitting back in his chair again. “Is there anything else you would like to ask? Anything you would like more information on?”

“Er, no… thank you, this has… it’s been really helpful,” Heather said, folding the piece of paper and slipping it, along with the plastic wallet, into her satchel.

“I’m glad to hear it,” the Lieutenant-Colonel said, his blue eyes bright. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Heather, and best of luck with your application.”

The older soldier rose to his feet when Heather did and they shook hands. Thorin had been told that he wasn’t expected to greet any of the candidates and if he stayed seated, they would get the message, but before Heather turned to leave, he found himself getting to his feet and extending his hand. Heather shook it with enthusiasm and she was positively beaming.

Thorin watched her leave the room, and as soon as she had disappeared through the door, he staggered back down into his seat, feeling as if the wind had been knocked from him. The whole meeting had been so unexpected and he had surprised himself more than once. He reached down and scratched Dain’s ears, knowing the Lieutenant-Colonel was watching him. He felt the heat continue to rise in his cheeks as he was reminded that he had just outed himself to a fellow officer… but surely Dr. Grey had told him? Had told him about Bilbo and his experiences at Ered Luin?

“Dr. Grey didn’t tell me.”

Thorin looked up sharply. Surely he was surrounded by mind-readers, and how endlessly frustrating it was that he wasn’t one of them.

“I don’t think he thought it was his place to.”

Thorin nodded, swallowing to try and clear his dry throat. “I… er, I wasn’t ‘out’ whilst I was serving.” He was sure his face was growing redder.

“That’s nothing to be ashamed of,” the Lieutenant-Colonel replied. “And, Captain Oakenshield, I want you to know that you’re under no obligation to reveal any details of your personal life whilst you’re working at the AFCO.”

“Okay… Thank you.”

“I know what it’s like, when you’re in Ered Luin and your every move feels like everybody’s business,” the Lieutenant-Colonel added, with a sympathetic smile. “But please understand that it’s not the case here: you have every right to your privacy.”

Observing the Lieutenant-Colonel that morning, Thorin found that he had completely forgotten that he had once been in his shoes: he hadn’t expected the reminder to be so encouraging.

“And you were brilliant just now,” the Lieutenant-Colonel said. His smile was infectious. “I think you’re going to do just fine here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *lights up enormous neon ‘PROGRESS’ sign*
> 
> Okay, guys, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I’m returning to work this week and I’m afraid that I won’t be able to update as regularly as I have done this summer. Hopefully I’ll be returning to my 2-3 weeks posting schedule, but if it’s a little longer than that, please don’t panic: an update will be on the way!
> 
> You have no idea how much I’ve enjoyed writing these past few weeks and I cannot thank you all enough for your continuing support and for your wonderful feedback: as ever, it means the absolute world to me!
> 
> [Edit] Now, I've mentioned to a few readers that I don't have my own Tumblr account. I do, however, lurk on my best friend's dash and dip in and out of the Bagginshield tag... and that's where I stumbled upon this absolutely stunning piece of Obstacles fanart: 
> 
> http://kaninenkung.tumblr.com/post/127655546996/bilbo-kind-of-how-i-picture-him-in-a-remover-of
> 
> It's Bilbo in his Birmingham hoodie and plaid pyjama bottoms and it's perfect! I am literally blown away by the spot-on details. I mean, the Birmingham crest, the shadows under Bilbo's eyes: it is a truly gorgeous piece of art and I am so honoured to have had a hand in inspiring it.


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A while ago, I asked all you wonderful people for some prompts now that Thorin is back out in the world and Lovely_Willow suggested a Thorin/Bilbo Skype session, so here’s 3,000 words of our dorks’ soppy Skypage… 
> 
> Also, another 3,000 words on why you should never underestimate Kili.

“Okay… Ready?”

Fili pulled her laptop a little closer to them on the bed and Thorin shifted his cross-legged position, Dain’s head bobbing on his knee.

“Ready,” Thorin murmured, studying the light blue colours of the screen before him and the faceless icon that indicated Bilbo’s Skype account.

The idea had come after an Oakenshield family Skype call to Balin and Dwalin in Edinbugh. Thorin, along with Dis, Fili, and Kili, had crowded around his niece’s laptop and chattered on with their cousins for at least an hour. Dwalin had seemed fairly uncomfortable throughout, as if his older brother had bullied him into it, but Thorin knew he preferred a traditional phone call and they had spoken a few times since his return to Scotland.

The communal call, however, had set a plan formulating in Thorin’s mind and he had asked Dr. Grey if he and Bilbo would be allowed to Skype – later on in the evening, well after visiting hours. He knew Bilbo hated the fact that he couldn’t stay the night, and he wondered if speaking before he went to bed would help ease some of that separation anxiety. The doctor had agreed whole-heartedly with Thorin’s reasoning, which was why Fili’s laptop was now emitting a whir of sounds… and then Bilbo’s face filled the whole screen.

“Hello!” Bilbo said, grinning as he leaned forward to tilt his screen. He appeared to be mirroring Thorin’s cross-legged position on his bed.

“Hi, Bilbo,” Fili replied brightly. “Can you hear us okay?”

“Oh yes, perfectly,” Bilbo replied. “Can you hear me alright?”

His green-grey eyes moved to Thorin, and Thorin couldn’t help the smile that sprang to his lips. He quickly looked away, only to be confronted with his own face in the bottom right-hand corner of screen… He still hadn’t quite got used to seeing himself whilst he was talking and he self-consciously straightened out his crumpled t-shirt sleeve.

“Yep, we’re good to go,” Fili confirmed, flashing Bilbo a thumbs up. “Right… Well, I’ll leave you to it.”

“Thank you, Fili,” Bilbo smiled. “And good luck for Monday. I hope your first day back goes well.”

“Yeah, I can’t wait to hand Mr. Greenwood my essay! Oh, and thanks for your final pointers on my personal statement – I’m giving it to my form tutor first thing on Monday morning, so hopefully my application should be sent off by the end of the week.”

“I’ve got all my fingers crossed for you,” Bilbo replied, his expression full of care and warmth.

Thorin found he was simply enjoying watching Bilbo’s face as he and Fili spoke, knowing that the younger man wouldn’t notice his staring.

And then, with a final grin and a wave, Fili rose from the bed. Out of sight of the laptop, she gave her uncle a goofy double-thumbs up, before slipping from the room, making sure she pulled the door completely shut.

“So, alone at last.”

Thorin’s eyes returned to the screen to find Bilbo smiling, rather wryly, up at him.

“Well, not quite,” Thorin murmured, reaching for Dain and realising the Labrador had completely changed his position and was edging closer to the laptop, his ears twitching as he tilted his head.

“Of course, how could I forget,” Bilbo chuckled. “Hello, Dain!”

Dain’s ears twitched again and then his tail started thumping on the bed as he let out an excited pant.

Thorin couldn’t help but laugh himself. “Who’s that, Dain?” he grinned. “Is it Bilbo? Can you see Bilbo?”

Dain wriggled at Thorin’s side, one paw shooting out and accidentally brushing the laptop’s mouse pad.

“Oh, no, back you come, mate,” Thorin said, gently coaxing Dain to return to his position further down the bed, behind his knee. “Fili’ll kill me if you break her laptop.”

Despite his obvious glee at hearing Bilbo’s voice, Dain still settled himself again, and Thorin scratched the Labrador behind the ears as his head came to rest on his knee.

“And what have you been up to this evening?” Bilbo asked, once the laptop was no longer in immediate danger. “Anything exciting? Life-changing? Criminal?”

It had only been about five or six hours since they had seen each other for the afternoon visiting hours, and Thorin suspected Bilbo was probably poking fun at this fact… if only to cover for the reality which suggested he really appreciated this call.

“Well, I made dinner for everyone,” Thorin said, trying and failing to keep the note of pride from his voice.

Bilbo raised an eyebrow, frowning at him.

“… What?”

“It’s just that you’re clearly in your room… which means the house is still standing and hasn’t been burnt to the ground.”

“Oi!” Thorin said, wishing, with a pang, that Bilbo were really sitting in front of him on the bed so he could give him a shove. “I’m getting better at cooking... But I did have Fili helping me.”

“You know I’m only teasing,” Bilbo said, looking particularly gleeful. “So… what did you make?”

“Nothing complicated. Just a chicken stir-fry... most of the ingredients were pre-prepared, we just threw them all in the pan.”

“Oh, stop being so modest - it sounds lovely! What sauce did you go for?”

“Oh, er, black bean.”

“Excellent choice. What noodles did you use?”

“Erm… I don’t really – Just the ones Dis picked up… Egg noodles, I think… Medium ones?”

Bilbo was now wearing quite a wistful look on his face, and Thorin was reminded of their first date and the rather obscene noises he made when trying his coffee and walnut cake.

“I… I should’ve saved you some,” Thorin mumbled, feeling his stomach tighten. “I could’ve brought it in for you tomorrow… we could’ve had a late lunch or something.”

“Not to worry,” Bilbo said softly, shuffling closer to his laptop. “It’s something to bear in mind for the future… For our third date, maybe?”

Thorin smiled at that. “… It would be our third date, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes, we’ve been quite improper,” Bilbo replied, with a smirk. “Anyway, I’m glad to hear dinner went off without a hitch.”

“Oh… Er, not quite.” Thorin shifted on the bed, and then reluctantly held up the index finger of his right hand which was sporting a thick, peach-coloured plaster.

Bilbo’s face instantly fell. “Thorin…”

“When I was chopping vegetables… My, er, finger got in the way.”

“But… the blood,” Bilbo said, his brow deeply furrowed with concern. “It didn’t bother you?”

“At first I did… er, freak a bit,” Thorin admitted. “But Fili got my hand straight under the cold tap and Dis sorted my finger out so… no panic attack, no black-outs.”

His smile was almost bashful, and he knew this was a strange thing to be proud of, but this was the first time he hadn’t had a disastrous reaction to one of his major triggers.

“That’s great, Thorin,” Bilbo said gently, clearly understanding. “Really great.”

“So there was no blood in our stir-fry and I didn’t burn the house down,” Thorin said, succinctly summarising his evening. “What about you? Anything life-changing or criminal?”

“Well, we had another little arts and crafts session with my cast.”

Bilbo lifted his left arm to show off his cast, which was definitely covered with more scribblings than it had been that afternoon. Bilbo’s wrist had been in plaster for almost two weeks now, and aside from a few grumblings about the difficulty of signing with Bifur, he seemed to be simply taking it in his stride. Now it was only mentioned when Bilbo was pointing out the multi-coloured mural which was growing across it. At Bilbo’s request, Thorin had been the first to sign it.

“And guess who finally signed it?” Bilbo asked, moving his arm closer to the screen.

At first there was just a blur of colour, but then the cast came back into focus and Thorin found he was looking at ‘DR. MARCH’ written in uniform, dark blue letters. Whereas everyone else had deemed it necessary to write of their love and best wishes (and Bofur had added a very dirty joke which had to be tactfully concealed when Kili signed the cast last week), the junior doctor obviously thought his name would suffice. Well, Thorin thought, it was better than nothing.

“So Haldir wasn’t forced into it then?” Thorin mused, quite enjoying picturing the look on Haldir’s face as he signed Bilbo’s cast whilst the younger man grinned at him.

“Rosie might have blocked off his exit, but he did do it of his own accord.”

“What’s that coconut thing next to it?” Thorin asked, squinting at the bizarre doodle penned in brown felt tip.

Bilbo lowered his arm to see what Thorin had been looking at. “Oh, Ori added that. It’s Wilson.”

Thorin arched an eyebrow. “Wilson?”

“You know, from _Cast Away_? Ori’s idea of a joke… _Cast_ Away?”

Thorin still looked confused.

“Don’t tell me you haven’t seen that film! With Tom Hanks? It’s a classic… You must ask Fili to rectify that as soon as possible.”

“Okay… we’re having a film day tomorrow before everyone’s back at school, so I’ll suggest it,” Thorin said, trying not to sound too sceptical.

There was a pause before Bilbo asked: “How are you feeling about Monday?”

Thorin’s heart gave a loud thump against his ribs. On Monday Fili and Kili would start their new school year and Dis would return to work. He was now going to be in the house on his own for extended periods of time, but he supposed this prospect wasn’t nearly as terrifying as it would have been a month ago.

“I… I’ll be okay,” Thorin replied. “It’ll be weird at first, but I have something on every day.”

The white board mounted on his bedroom wall was already looking fairly full for the week: he’d written up his sessions, his shifts at the AFCO, and his daily visits to see Bilbo. He’d be commuting by himself for all of them, taking the bus into town, and as daunting as it might be, he found he was also rather looking forward to demonstrating his regained independence.

“And you’re working at the AFCO on Monday?”

“In the morning, yeah,” Thorin agreed. “Then my next shift is Wednesday afternoon… I, er, I’m hoping to be able to start doing full days soon.”

“You know, I still haven’t seen you in uniform yet,” Bilbo commented, with a sly smile.

Thorin let out a self-conscious cough. On the days when he was working, he always got changed before going to the hospital… He had asked Dr. Grey how Bilbo would react to seeing him in full uniform, but the doctor hadn’t given him any answers and had only urged him to discuss it with Bilbo himself. However, this was the first time the topic had been tackled.

“I, er, I could stay in uniform on Wednesday? I’ll come and see you straight from the AFCO?” Thorin suggested, wondering why his cheeks were beginning to feel hot.

“I’d like that,” Bilbo said, and his smile was slowly turning wicked. “But I’m just wondering if there’s any way I can convince you to put your uniform on now?”

Thorin choked. “B-Bilbo…” he spluttered, his face definitely burning. “I… I can’t… anyone could walk in… at-at your end too.”

Bilbo gave a theatrical sigh. “I know… it’s a real shame,” he said, still grinning. “Maybe you could at least put your beret on though…? Please?”

Bilbo’s eyes were wide and pleading, his grin softening to an eager smile, and Thorin was powerless to resist. He knew he would always do everything in his power to make Bilbo happy.

“Okay,” he said, giving in, rubbing a hand across his beard. “Don’t move.”

“Oh, I won’t.”

Giving Dain a reassuring pat, Thorin clambered off the bed and went to his wardrobe. Opening the heavy wooden doors, he retrieved his khaki beret from the top shelf. Trying to ignore the distinct red colour in his cheeks as he adjusted the beret in his bedroom mirror, Thorin then returned to the bed, smiling almost shyly at the screen.

“Thorin! You look so handsome!”

Thorin wasn’t really sure how to reply, but he was glad to feel a giddy warmth rising up from his stomach, helping to vanquish his embarrassment. Bilbo was suddenly leaning forward and Thorin heard the tap of keys.

“… What are you doing?” he asked, going very still.

“Taking a screenshot.”

Thorin choked again. “Bilbo…”

But before Bilbo could reply, the screen suddenly flickered and the image became horribly pixelated.

“Bilbo…? I can’t… I can’t see you properly,” Thorin said urgently, feeling his heart begin to thud against his chest.

Bilbo seemed to answer, but his voice was crackly with syllables being blotted out.

“Bilbo… Something’s wrong…”

The screen went blank, making Thorin jump. “Shit,” he muttered, tentatively reaching out and moving the mouse on the screen, but nothing happened. His heart continued its panicked thumping and Thorin felt his stomach knotting itself. “Fili!” he called out, his voice higher than usual. “Fili!”

Within moments, the bedroom door opened and Fili appeared in her pyjamas, looking worried. “Uncle? Are you okay?”

“It… S-Something happened…” Thorin gestured desperately to the laptop, breathing heavily.

Fili quickly came to perch next to him on the bed. “Hey, it’s alright,” she said quietly, her tone warm and reassuring. “Technology can be a dick sometimes, we’ll sort it.”

Thorin nodded, attempting to draw in a deep breath as Fili pulled the laptop towards her.

“There a reason you’re wearing your beret?” she asked casually, her eyes not leaving the screen as a sly grin appeared.

“Oh…” Thorin snatched the beret from his head. “I just… Bilbo wanted to… to see me in it.” His cheeks were, once again, burning with absolute mortification.

“Right,” Fili replied, the grin only widening. “Our WiFi connection’s fine… What happened just before the call cut out?”

“Erm, Bilbo was taking a screenshot and –”

“Okay, Uncle, I don’t think I really need to know,” Fili said, opening the Skype window again. “Let’s just try and call back.”

Fili clicked on the green call button and they waited, listening to the soft beeps for a few seconds, before Bilbo reappeared, looking slightly harassed but now unpixelated.

“Sorry! Bloody hospital WiFi!” he said, voice coming across loud and clear. “Hello again, Fili.”

“Hey,” Fili replied, her expression wry. “Right, well, I’ll leave you and Captain Oakenshield to it.”

Her shit-eating grin appeared to be aimed at Bilbo, but she excused herself fairly swiftly, and Thorin reached one hand up to his temple.

“Fili saw you in your beret?” Bilbo asked quietly.

Thorin nodded, looking at the khaki beret still in his lap. “Yes.”

“Thorin, I’m really sorry,” Bilbo said, his voice full of genuine remorse. “I shouldn’t have asked you to put it on.”

“No, no, it’s alright,” Thorin said, managing a smile: he didn’t need Bilbo blaming himself for something as trivial as this. “I don’t mind… She won’t tell anyone.”

“Okay,” Bilbo replied, returning the smile. “And you _did_ look very handsome.”

They spent another hour or so discussing their plans for the week and the happenings on the ward, until it was approaching midnight and Thorin noticed that Bilbo’s posture was starting to droop, his speech seeming a little slow and weary.

“Would you like to call it a night?” Thorin asked gently.

Bilbo sighed, reaching up to run a hand through his mop of curls. “I am tired… but I’m not sure I’ll be able to sleep just yet.”

Thorin smiled sadly, knowing this battle all too well. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Would you mind… reading to me?” Bilbo asked, and it was with the same tentative tone as the first time he had asked that question, all those months ago when Thorin had read _Brideshead Revisited_ to him until he fell asleep.

“Of course,” Thorin agreed. “My bookshelves are a little, er, sparse compared to yours, though.”

Bilbo only smiled. “What are my options?”

Thorin twisted around to study the shelf above his bed. “Erm… I’ve got the first three Harry Potter books… Kili wants me to start reading them… _Othello_ and _Regeneration_ … Some Walt Whitman collections and an American Poetry anthology that belonged to my dad…”

“Oh, I’ve never heard you read poetry before,” Bilbo whispered. “You’ve definitely got the voice for it.”

Thorin coughed as he pulled the anthology from his shelf. “Er… Right… Have you got a preference for anyone in particular? William Carlos Williams? Dickinson? Frost?”

“Some Robert Frost would be lovely: my mum was a big fan,” Bilbo replied. “Let me just get a bit more comfortable…”

Thorin watched as Bilbo pushed the laptop down the bed so he could pull his blankets back and get under the covers. He drew the laptop towards him again, now lying on his side.

“Comfy?” Thorin murmured.

Bilbo nodded, smiling contently from the screen.

Thorin checked the contents page of the anthology and turned to the Robert Frost chapter. “The first poem is… ‘Desert Places’.”

Something flickered in Bilbo’s expression, but he didn’t comment, and so, after a pause, Thorin began to read:

“Snow falling and night falling fast, oh, fast  
In a field I looked into going past,  
And the ground almost covered smooth in snow,  
But a few weeds and stubble showing last." 

At first Thorin found himself stumbling over the rhythm of the first two stanzas, and his eyes kept flicking to Bilbo, but the younger man was smiling rather dreamily, and it urged him to continue.

“And lonely as it is that loneliness  
Will be more lonely ere it will be less--  
A blanker whiteness of benighted snow  
With no expression, nothing to express.” 

Thorin drew in a breath: he felt he might have discovered at least one of the reasons for Bilbo’s inscrutable expression, but still he went on to finish the poem.

“They cannot scare me with their empty spaces  
Between stars--on stars where no human race is.  
I have it in me so much nearer home  
To scare myself with my own desert places." 

Thorin stared down at the yellowed page, his heart sounding in his ears. _I have it in me so much nearer home to scare myself with my own desert places…_ The poem sounded like something Dr. Grey would use in one of his sessions and he felt an undercurrent tugging at the corners of his mind, trying to drag him back, but he forcefully pushed such thoughts away and swallowed, looking up at Bilbo.

“You read that beautifully,” Bilbo murmured, his expression closed off.

Thorin tried to smile in response, but couldn’t quite manage it. “You… er, you know the poem?”

“Yes… like I said, my mother really loved Frost… And when my parents died… well, it was the first time I understood what a desert place really was.”

Thorin felt his chest twinge: maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea. He was sure Bilbo’s mind, like his own, was still littered with such places… Seeing the distant look in Bilbo’s eyes, he realised the younger man was probably returning to one at that very moment, and he decided it was up to him to bring him back. “So… is it, er, ironic that my desert place is a literal desert?”

This succeeded in pulling a smile from Bilbo. “Very,” he agreed.

Carefully closing the anthology, Thorin glanced at the shelf behind his head. “Would you like me to read something else?”

Bilbo thought for a moment, his brow endearingly crinkled, and then he replied: “How about we make Kili happy and start _Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone_?”

 

…

 

“… And my form tutor was really impressed with my personal statement. He said he’ll check through it tonight and then if there aren’t many changes, I could have my UCAS application sent off by Wednesday!”

“That’s wonderful, Fili,” Thorin replied, finding his niece’s grin infectious.

All in all, Fili had clearly had a very productive first day back, and Thorin was glad he could share it with her over a cup of tea at their kitchen table. Fili had a free period last thing on a Monday, so she had arrived home earlier than Dis and Kili. Dis had explained that her first day was going to be pretty manic and she had faculty meetings after lessons, but she was hoping to be home by six. Thorin had promised her that dinner would be waiting on the table when she got in.

“Did you give Mr. Greenwood your essay?” Thorin asked, downing the last of his now lukewarm tea.

“Oh, yes,” Fili said, looking sufficiently smug. “And as I handed it over I said: “I hope my sources are obscure enough for you, Sir.””

Thorin shared his niece’s smirk. “When will you get it back?”

“I’m not sure, hopefully by the end of –”

Fili stopped when she heard the front door go.

“Hey, Kee!”

Thorin leaned to his left so he could peer down the hallway just in time to see his nephew slam the door and then go thundering up the stairs, his face looking red beneath his mop of dark hair. The crashing continued above their heads, indicating that Kili had charged straight up to the attic.

“Looks like Kili might not have had a very good day,” Thorin said quietly, his chest tightening.

Fili was staring up at the ceiling with a frown. “I don’t understand… He was fine when I saw him at lunch.”

“I’ll go and check on him.” Thorin got to his feet and Dain roused himself from his bed by the back door, coming to his side.

“Are you sure, Uncle? I don’t mind going up,” Fili said, her frown still in place.

Thorin smiled, moving towards the kitchen door. “I’m sure, you finish your tea.”

Although seeming a little reluctant, Fili nodded, and so Thorin made the journey up two flights of stairs to the attic, Dain padding quietly beside him. Climbing the last few stairs up to Kili’s bedroom, Thorin hesitated, his hand still on the banister. Kili’s school bag had been thrown into a corner and Kili himself was lying on his stomach on his bed, face hidden from view as he clutched at one of his pillows.

“Go away, Fili!” he cried, voice muffled by the pillow, though the pain in it was still loud and clear.

“Kili,” Thorin said gently, hand falling from the banister as he stepped into the room.

Kili froze, and then he was pulling himself up, swinging his legs over the bed as he hastily wiped at his eyes. “Uncle Thorin… I-I’m sorry… I d-didn’t mean to shout…”

Kili’s voice had the shaken, hiccupping quality of someone who was all cried out, and Thorin’s heart was aching as he came to kneel in front of him. Dain let out a low whimper and shuffled forward, licking Kili’s hand. The corner of Kili’s mouth twitched as he stroked Dain’s head.

“That’s okay, we all shout sometimes,” Thorin said softly. “Do you want to talk about what happened today?”

Kili shook his head, rubbing his eyes. He seemed to be on the verge of tears again, but before the first sob could leave him, Thorin pulled his nephew into a hug. Kili welcomed the embrace and wrapped his skinny arms around Thorin’s neck, pushing his face into his chest. Thorin only held him tighter, resting his chin on Kili’s shoulder.

“How about we go to the park for a bit?” Thorin suggested carefully. “Let’s take one of your footballs and have a kick about.”

Kili slowly drew away with a sniffle. “Really?”

“Yeah, Dain hasn’t had a proper walk today, and your mum isn’t going to be home for another couple of hours.”

At the mention of Dis, Kili stiffened, but then the moment passed and he replied: “Okay… I need to change though: I’ll put my kit on.”

“No problem,” Thorin smiled. “You get changed and I’ll see you downstairs.”

 

…

 

Thorin only had time for a few whispered words of reassurance with Fili before Kili appeared, fully kitted out in his Leeds United FC strip with a football under his arm. He avoided his sister’s eye and was quick in ushering Thorin and Dain out the door, but Thorin knew not to question him about it.

They made the short journey to the large, leafy park that had been the setting for many of their previous games of football and Kili selected the perfect spot in a huge, open field just beyond the lake for their kick about. Thorin settled Dain down at the side of their home-made pitch and then he and Kili created their goal posts using their bags, making sure they were far enough apart and properly aligned.

After a few warm ups, passing the ball easily between them, they focused on penalty shots, taking it in turns to be in goal. Few words passed between them, but Thorin could see Kili’s whole demeanour change as he became absorbed with their game, his focus on trying to outwit his uncle in goal, drawing his attention away from whatever had happened at school.

The weather was dry and warm, the sky stretching above them a beautiful, cloud-speckled blue, and by the time they had three turns each taking penalties, they were both red-faced and sweating.

“Kili, mate,” Thorin said, drawing in a deep breath. “Let’s have a time-out.”

He made a ‘T’ with his hands and then stooped to collect their bags before moving towards the nearby bench which was waiting in the cool shade of the trees. Dain rose from where he was sunning himself in the grass and trotted to Thorin’s side, Kili following behind him. Thorin handed his nephew a water bottle and then lifted his own to his lips, taking several large gulps as the sweat ran down his neck. Kili did the same, and they sat together in companionable silence, wiping at their foreheads and taking deep breaths as their hearts thumped in their chests.

“I got in trouble in English.”

Thorin’s stomach twisted, and he turned to see Kili staring dejectedly into his lap. “Okay,” he said gently. “Why did you get in trouble?”

Kili started fiddling with the cap on his water bottle. “Alf Lickspittle was making fun of my yellow workbook so I hit him with it.”

Ah. Thorin let out a sigh. He completely understood Kili’s reaction, and it seemed fully justified in his mind… but he knew he shouldn’t be condoning it.

“Miss Silvan saw me do it and she got really angry,” Kili added miserably. “She shouted at me in front of the class… She said she was going to ring my mum.”

Thorin scratched at Dain’s ears, his heart aching again. “But did Miss Silvan know Alf was teasing you? Did you tell her that?”

Kili shook his head. “No.”

“I think if she’d known, she wouldn’t have shouted,” Thorin explained quietly. “You need to make sure she knows what really happened, Kili.”

Kili nodded, pushing the toes of his football boots into the dust beneath their feet.

“And next time Alf says anything to you, you need to tell Miss Silvan straight away.”

Thorin hoped this was sensible advice and that it would help Kili in future: he didn’t want to tell his nephew he was having a hard time not picturing punching this unknown twelve-year-old in the face.

“Mum is going to be angry.”

“She might not be very happy that you hit Alf with your book, but I think she’ll definitely understand why you did it,” Thorin replied carefully. “And I’ll make sure she doesn’t get angry with you.”

Finally, Kili smiled. “Thanks, Uncle Thorin.”

Thorin smiled back and they lapsed into a silence that was easier than the last. Feeling the air growing a little cooler, Thorin was about to suggest they think about heading home when Kili spoke again.

“Uncle Thorin… Can I ask you a question and you won’t get mad?”

Thorin’s heart jolted in his chest. “Of course,” he murmured, his throat feeling dry as his mind began whirring through all the possibly treacherous questions his nephew might be about to ask. “I won’t get mad.”

Kili waited a few moments, seeming unsure, but then the question came: “Is Bilbo your boyfriend?”

Thorin’s hand instinctively reached for Dain as he exhaled slowly.

“I’m sorry!” Kili suddenly cried. “Uncle Thorin, I’m really sorry!”

“Hey, Kili,” Thorin said, perturbed by Kili’s reaction. “It’s… It’s okay, I’m not mad.”

“But you’re upset,” Kili replied, still looking stricken. “You only put your hand out for Dain when something’s upset you.”

Thorin stared at his nephew in shock. He realised then that he had greatly underestimated just how observant Kili really was… He must have been watching his body language for a while, figuring out the patterns, trying to understand.

“I’m not upset,” Thorin said, though he could hear his heartbeat in his ears.

He hadn’t really pictured coming out to Kili this way… He supposed he hadn’t pictured it at all. Dis and Fili had followed his lead on not disclosing the true nature of his relationship with Bilbo to Kili, but now Thorin was thinking that this avoidance had all been quite unnecessary.

Drawing in a deep breath, Thorin answered the question: “Yes, Bilbo is my boyfriend… Is… Is that okay with you?”

Kili furrowed his brow, studying his uncle with obvious confusion. “Why wouldn’t it be okay?”

Thorin had to smile at that, and he felt a whole host of emotions bubbling up in his chest. “Sorry, Kili, that… er, that was a silly question.”

They were both quiet for a few moments, Kili studying the grubby tips of his football boots, and then Thorin’s curiosity got the better of him.

“Did somebody tell you… about me and Bilbo?”

He wasn’t going to hold it against anyone if something had slipped out, he just wondered how long Kili had known and kept quiet.

“No,” Kili replied, seeming confused again. “It’s just… kind of obvious.”

Thorin gave a surprised laugh. “Really?”

“Well, yeah.” Thorin could already hear Fili’s ‘My Uncle is an Idiot’ tone in Kili's voice. “I mean, at first I thought you were best friends, like me and Sam, but then I saw you holding hands that night before you came to stay for the first time… and you both looked so sad.”

Thorin's heart gave a painful twinge at the memory. He had been so caught up in looking after Bilbo, his thoughts hadn’t lingered on how Kili had interpreted the scene.

“And then there’s the way Bilbo looks at you when you’re at the hospital.”

Thorin raised an eyebrow. “How does he look at me?”

Kili shrugged. “Like you’re his favourite person in the world.”

Thorin’s heart was truly aching now as he tried to swallow back his emotion. Did Bilbo really look at him like that? He was inclined to believe his nephew, who had been right about everything so far, who saw things other people missed just like his sister, and this only made his chest swell with further feelings of love and giddiness.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, Kili,” Thorin said honestly, hoping his nephew would forgive him for being an idiot.

“That’s okay,” Kili replied quietly. “People never tell me things… They think I’m too young and too stupid to understand.”

“Kili…” Thorin sighed.

“I know I’ll never be as smart as you or Mum or Fili,” Kili continued, his cheeks colouring. “But I do understand things; I try really hard to understand.”

“Oh, Kili, you’re already far smarter than me,” Thorin said, squeezing Kili’s shoulder with a smile. “I really messed about in school; you’ve definitely got a better attitude.”

Kili stared across at Thorin, not quite managing to mask his surprise. With a pang, Thorin thought he might have fallen a little in Kili’s estimations, but if this was the price of his honesty, he really didn’t mind.

“Anyway, I really am sorry I didn’t tell you,” Thorin said, when Kili didn’t reply. “I won’t make that mistake again.”

Kili smiled, before his expression turned thoughtful. “Does this mean I should call Bilbo ‘Uncle Bilbo’?”

Thorin chuckled at that. “I’m not sure, that’s not really up to me… Why don’t you come with me to see Bilbo one day this week and you can ask him?”

Kili’s whole face lit up. “Yeah! … And I know he helped Fili with her homework, do you think he’ll help me with my History project?”

“I’m sure he’d love to help you,” Thorin assured him, and then he was getting to his feet. “Okay, mate, I think it’s about time we headed back. And don’t worry,” he added, seeing Kili’s face fall. “Your mum isn’t going to be angry.”

Kili nodded, seeming more convinced than before. They shouldered their bags and then returned to the path that wound its way through the park. As they approached the twisted iron entrance-way, Kili wordlessly slipped his hand into Thorin’s, and together the two of them continued on their journey home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, please check out this amazing piece of Obstacles fanart by Kaninenkung! It’s Bilbo in his Birmingham hoodie and the attention to detail is phenomenal:
> 
> http://kaninenkung.tumblr.com/post/127655546996/bilbo-kind-of-how-i-picture-him-in-a-remover-of
> 
> In other news, my return to work hasn’t been too painful, though the days have been far brighter because of all your support, your comments, and your kudos. Thank you all for keeping me smiling! :)


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! We've got quite a mix of fluff, angst, and smut in this update. 
> 
> After Chapter 28, it was pointed out that certain ‘things’ might be tricky with Bilbo’s wrist in a cast, and my reply was: challenge accepted! 
> 
> On a side note: I’ve decided to change Bilbo’s birthday to the canon date: this has been edited in Chapter 11.

Thorin clipped the visitor badge onto his shirt pocket and turned to watch Kili as he leaned on the nurses’ station desk, filling out his own badge, his brow furrowed in concentration. Usually when Kili visited the hospital his badge was taken care of by either Dis or Fili, but today he had asked if he would be allowed to complete it by himself. Beaming, Thorin had agreed: he didn’t mind waiting a few extra moments so that his nephew could have this small victory of independence… He knew exactly what those felt like, and he wouldn’t deny Kili that feeling for the world.  

Kili held the stubby pencil firmly in his hand and he hunched, almost self-consciously, over the badge as he slowly and carefully formed the letters of his name.

“Uncle Thorin, what time should I put?” he asked, pencil hovering over the next box.

“Four-thirty should be fine,” Thorin replied warmly, scratching at Dain’s ears as the Labrador sat down at his side.

Following amendments to the shift rota at the AFCO, Thorin hadn’t turned up in uniform this afternoon, but he had arrived with Kili in tow. Dis had managed to get away from work as soon as the school day finished, and so she had dropped Thorin and Kili off at the hospital whilst she and Fili went to do a spot of shopping in the city centre. Thorin was under the impression that this was probably the first time in a very long time that Dis and Fili had partaken in any sort of mother-daughter activity. He really hoped it would be a good experience for both of them.

“Okay, I’m done,” Kili announced, slipping the badge inside of its plastic case and clipping it onto the front of his black school blazer.

Thorin smiled and turned towards Bilbo’s room. “Come on then.”

Kili followed, staying close to his side, and they found Bilbo sitting cross-legged on his bed, waiting for them. The younger man closed his book and deposited it on his bedside table, greeting them both with a bright smile. “Hello, Kili!”

There was a pause before Kili answered with a quiet: “Hi, Bilbo.”

Thorin looked down at his nephew with concern, only to find Kili leaning close to his arm, looking almost shy… which was very unlike him. It was then that it occurred to him that this was the first time Kili was meeting Bilbo as his uncle’s partner, and not his best friend. That could explain his baffling, bashful behaviour. Thorin’s heart began a heavier thump: he really hoped this visit wasn’t going to be uncomfortable for Kili… he had seemed so unfazed when they had spoken in the park on Monday.

“Why don’t you go sit down?” Thorin prompted gently, indicating the seat to the left of Bilbo’s bed.

Kili nodded and approached the bed with a small smile, dropping his school bag to his feet as he climbed onto the chair. Thorin took a seat in his usual spot and once he had Dain settled he turned to Bilbo, placing a hand next to his on the bed.

“Hello,” he murmured their usual soft greeting.

Bilbo’s reply was equally soft: “Hello.”

“Aren’t you going to hold hands?”

Thorin and Bilbo jumped at the sound of Kili’s voice. Kili was studying them across the bed, his gaze flicking to their hands which were almost touching on the sheets. So much for Kili being shy, Thorin thought, with something close to relief.

“And you can kiss and stuff if you want, I don’t mind,” Kili added earnestly.

Colour was quickly rising in Thorin’s cheeks, but Bilbo only laughed, twining his fingers over Thorin’s on the bed, his cast brushing against the back of Thorin’s hand. Feeling a little too stunned by Kili’s sudden boldness to react, he was glad when Bilbo took the initiative and lifted their joined hands to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to Thorin’s knuckles.

“There,” Bilbo said, with a hint of amusement, before seamlessly turning the attention back to Kili: “So how’s your first week back going, Kili?”

Thorin wondered if Kili would mention the upsetting incident in English on Monday and his stomach clenched a little, but he had filled Bilbo in on everything that had led to his unexpected coming out that afternoon, so he knew he would be tactful.

“Yeah, it’s been good,” Kili answered, his brown eyes lighting up. “I got picked to be team captain for this half-term’s inter-form archery competition and I’ve moved up a set in English!”

It seemed Kili was determined to focus on the positives – a trait Thorin greatly admired in his nephew – and he relaxed his posture slightly.

“Oh, that’s wonderful, Kili, well done on both accounts,” Bilbo replied, beaming. “So what does being team captain entail then?”

“You mean like what do I have to do as team captain?” Kili ventured, one eyebrow raised.

Thorin realised Kili had probably struggled over the word ‘entail’, but showed no embarrassment in asking for clarification.

“Yes, sorry, that’s exactly what I meant,” Bilbo confirmed, still smiling.

“Well, I have to decide the order we shoot in for each round, and I have to sort out our training sessions with the P.E. teachers… and, I don’t know, give speeches to the team to like keep everyone happy.”

“Sounds like a very admirable role,” Bilbo said thoughtfully. “I’m sure you’ll do a brilliant job.”

Kili let out a sigh that made him seem a good twenty years older. “I hope so… our form came second to last in Year 7 ‘cause our captain just cared about his own score and not anyone else’s.”

“Definitely not a team player then,” Bilbo replied sadly. After a pause, he steered their conversation onto the main reason for Kili’s visit: “Now, your uncle tells me you’d like some help with your History homework?”

“Oh, yeah!” Kili said, reaching for his school bag and unzipping the top. “Fili wouldn’t stop talking about all the help you gave her with her essay, so I thought you might be able to help me with my Year 8 project.”

Thorin caught Bilbo’s sly sideways glance, but he hoped the younger man was secretly pleased to hear that Fili had been singing his praises.

Kili carefully pulled a yellow-papered booklet from his bag and handed it to Bilbo. “We’re doing castles at the moment and there’s a prize for the best project. I know Mum can help me, but sometimes she just rambles a lot and she keeps telling me GCSE stuff that I don’t understand yet and Fili said that you explain things really well.”

Kili didn’t seem to take a breath at all and he delivered his explanation in one gust of air. Thorin tried not to smirk at his nephew’s assessment of Dis, but he had run the visit by his sister, checking she really didn’t mind that Kili had elected to seek out Bilbo’s help over that of his mother, who happened to be the head of a very successful History faculty. Dis had assured him that she was hardly irked by this rejection… and had quietly commented that she knew it would mean a lot to Bilbo to be of service.

“Right, well, it seems I’ve got quite a reputation to live up to,” Bilbo said, the wryness of his smile lost on Kili. “Let’s have a look, shall we? Thorin, would you mind dragging my over bed table up here?”

“Of course.” Thorin got to his feet and collected the table, moving it further up the bed so Bilbo could use it as a desk.

“Please can I sit next to you, Bilbo?” Kili asked politely, sounding a little tentative again. “I can’t really read things if they’re at an angle.”

“Of course you can,” Bilbo answered, shuffling over on the bed. “There’s plenty of room.”

Without prompting, Kili slipped off his black leather school shoes and, after retrieving his pencil case, clambered onto the bed next to Bilbo. Thorin had to bite back a smile as he watched Kili inspecting Bilbo’s cross-legged position before mirroring it perfectly as he settled next to him.

“So, what shall we look at first?” Bilbo asked, placing the booklet on the table between them.

“Okay, the first thing I need to do is label all the different parts of a castle,” Kili explained, opening the first page to reveal a detailed diagram of a medieval castle.

“Oh right, really testing my memory here: it’s been a while since I looked at any pre-1800 history,” Bilbo said, with a chuckle. “Why don’t you tell me if you know any parts first?”

“Hmmm… I know this is the moat… and here’s the drawbridge…” Kili pointed at different parts of the diagram. “We’re going on a trip to Skipton Castle in a few weeks, but it doesn’t have a moat anymore: the water’s all dried up.”

Bilbo nodded. “I hear Skipton Castle’s absolutely beautiful… It’s stood the test of time very well, considering it’s almost a thousand years old.”

“We should all go on a day out there, when you’re feeling better,” Kili said, eyes lighting up. “You can come with me and Uncle Thorin and Fili and Mum… I think they’ll let us bring Dain, and your dog too, if the hospital give you one.”

Bilbo’s jaw twitched and Thorin froze, feeling his heart beating painfully hard in his chest. He was about to intervene when Bilbo recovered himself.

“That sounds like a great idea, Kili,” he said, avoiding Thorin’s eye. “I look forward to it.”

Kili clearly hadn’t picked up on the strain in Bilbo’s voice and he sat there, happily oblivious, as Bilbo began to explain the workings of a castle’s drawbridge and gatehouse.  Thorin knew Bilbo didn’t want to look at him right now – there would surely be too much pain in his gaze – so instead he slid his hand across the bed and gently brushed his thumb over Bilbo’s. Bilbo didn’t miss a beat in his explanation, but a faint smile still appeared as he nudged his thumb against Thorin’s.

The next half hour passed without incident as Kili and Bilbo completed their labelling of the castle. Kili took great care in drawing straight lines with his ruler and scribing the labels. He also added in extra sentences from Bilbo’s explanations, hoping it would push him further towards the prize at the end of the half-term. Bilbo was happy to spell out any unfamiliar words, and as with Fili, he was patient and calm in his suggestions. He really was an exceptionally good teacher and Thorin was sure he was never going to forget all he had just learnt about medieval castles. Bilbo had taught him more about History in the past five months than he had ever learnt in five years at secondary school.

“Okay… it’s finished!” Kili declared proudly, setting down his pen.

“It looks wonderful, Kili,” Bilbo said warmly. “You’re definitely in with a shout for that prize.”

Kili nodded, studying the diagram in front of him, his expression one of both concentration and consideration, as if he was formulating his next response very carefully in his mind… and Thorin felt his stomach flip. He had a sneaking suspicion of what Kili’s next question was going to be.

“Bilbo?” he asked slowly, turning to him.

Bilbo didn’t seem concerned by Kili’s previous silence. “Yes, Kili?”

“Uncle Thorin said I should ask you when I came to visit… and, well, I was wondering… because you’re Uncle’s boyfriend now… if you want me to call you ‘Uncle Bilbo’?”

Bilbo’s eyes widened in surprise, and there was a pause before he answered, clearly trying to keep his voice steady: “Would you like to call me ‘Uncle Bilbo’?”

“Yeah, of course,” Kili replied. “I was thinking, ‘cause you don’t have any family in Yorkshire, you might like some… so we can be your family, and I’d like to be your nephew.”

Thorin had to clamp a hand over his mouth to stop whatever broken sound was going to leave it. He could feel his heart swelling inside his chest and he and Bilbo exchanged smiles, both of their gazes growing blurry. Kili, however, was looking panicked by their reactions.

“Did I say something wrong?” he asked, voice higher than usual. “I’m really sorry… I didn’t want to upset you, Bilbo!”

“Oh, Kili, I’m not upset,” Bilbo said, putting a gentle hand on Kili’s shoulder as he blinked back his tears. “You’ve made me very, very happy… I’d love to be your uncle.”

“Awesome,” Kili grinned. “Thanks, Uncle Bilbo!”

Don’t you cry, Thorin told himself sternly, don’t you dare cry. He managed to smile in time as Kili looked over at him in triumph.

“Uncle Bilbo, could I please have a look at some of your books? You room is way better than our school’s library and I know Fili and Uncle Thorin have borrowed some books from you… is that okay?”

As ever, Kili was bouncing straight onto his next thought, seemingly unaware of the momentousness of what had just occurred. This change of topic, however, only made Bilbo laugh.

“Of course, Kili, you have a good browse,” he smiled. “Let me know if you find anything you’d like to borrow.”

With that, Kili slipped from the bed. He collected his yellow overlay from his school bag and then started his search of Bilbo’s shelves. Thorin and Bilbo watched him in fond silence for a few moments before turning to each other.

“You knew he was going to ask me that?” Bilbo whispered, with a smile, his thumb drawing circles on the back of Thorin’s hand.

“Yes,” Thorin replied quietly. “Is it really okay? You don’t mind?”

“Of course I don’t… I just got myself a bit choked up, that’s all.”

“You and me both,” Thorin grinned, squeezing Bilbo’s hand.

“So, how’s this week going?” Bilbo asked, his tone light, although Thorin knew the other questions contained within it: Bilbo wanted to know how he was coping now everyone was back at school.

“It’s, er… still a bit odd,” Thorin admitted. “If I thought the house was quiet before, it’s really quiet now… but Dain is keeping me company, and we all have breakfast together in a morning, which is nice… and Fili and Kili are home by four, so I’m not really on my own for very long.”

Bilbo nodded. “Good, I’m glad you’re doing okay.”

“Anyway, I also have a question for you,” Thorin said, with a cough.

“Oh? Well, ask away.”

“I know your birthday is coming up this month, and I just wondered if you wanted to do anything special for it? Also, I need some ideas for your presents.”

Bilbo had suddenly gone very still and pale, and he stared at Thorin with an indecipherable expression, slowly drawing his hand away, into his lap.

“I don’t really want to celebrate another birthday in here,” he stated, his voice flat.

“Right… okay, shit, Bilbo, I’m sorry,” Thorin said, mentally kicking himself.

It hadn’t even occurred to him that Bilbo wouldn’t want to celebrate his birthday… He really was such an idiot. Bilbo was now staring stonily into his lap and Thorin’s heart was contorting with panic. His eyes flicking up, he realised Kili had stopped his perusal of Bilbo’s books when he heard his uncle curse and now he was looking over at the bed, brow furrowed in concern.

“It… it’s okay, Kili, you just keep looking at the books,” Thorin said, trying to stop it sounding like a command.

Luckily, Kili didn’t need telling twice and he quickly turned back to Bilbo’s bookshelf, placing his overlay on top of the spine of a large encyclopaedia.

“Bilbo…” Thorin said softly, putting his hand on Bilbo’s arm. “Bilbo, I’m really sorry… I didn’t know…”

“You remembered my birthday,” Bilbo said slowly, looking up, his voice almost back to normal. “I’ve only ever mentioned it once… after I had that dissociative episode.”

“I try to remember everything about you,” Thorin said, managing a weak smile. “Of course I’d want to remember your birthday.”

Bilbo mirrored his smile, a little meekly. One hand reached up to gingerly touch his temple. “Sorry… I… I got lost a bit there… Can we please talk about something else?”

“Of course,” Thorin replied. There was a more than awkward pause, but then he was sure he had found the perfect distraction: “So, my shift got switched to Friday morning, which means when I come and visit on Friday afternoon I’ll be in uniform… Oh, and Dain’s got his check-up, so it’ll just be the two of us.”

“Excellent,” Bilbo said, his smile looking almost wicked. “I was so disappointed that you arrived sans beret today.”

Thorin squeezed Bilbo’s arm. “I’ll make up for that, promise.”   

Bilbo was about to reply when Kili suddenly appeared at his side, startling both of them.

“Uncle Bilbo, can I borrow this book on the Middle Ages? I think it’s a bit too difficult for me to read but it has some pictures of castles in the back.”

Bilbo smiled warmly. “So it does: a very good choice, Kili.”

His eyes met Thorin’s for a second and the smile became wry. It appeared Kili was another graduate from the Radagast School of Ill-timed Interruptions.

 

…

 

“Make sure you behave yourself, Mister,” Thorin said, scratching behind Dain’s ears as the Labrador gobbled a handful of treats from his open palm.

“Oh, he will,” Faramir said, smiling fondly down at Dain. “He knows not to try any funny business with me.”

Thorin nodded, staying in his crouch in front of Dain, aware that Faramir was probably anxious to get on the road and avoid the Friday traffic. As a psychological assistance dog, it was imperative that Dain had regular check-ups to ensure he was fit and healthy. He was therefore due a visit to the vet: not that Thorin would mention that dreaded word in his presence. He and Dr. Grey had discussed Thorin accompanying Faramir, but in the end it was decided that they would err on the side of caution and let Thorin stay at the hospital whilst Dain was taken to his check-up. The visit could be potentially invasive and distressing for Thorin, and so the best place for him to be when without Dain was back on the ward.

“I’ll see you soon,” Thorin murmured, stroking Dain’s head with an undeniable look of affection, making sure his posture and facial expressions were reassuring for Dain, showing that he was comfortable with their parting and not in any distress. He felt Bilbo move closer to his side.

In response, Dain licked eagerly at his face until Thorin urged him back so Faramir could clip on his lead.

“We’ll be back as soon as possible,” Faramir said, as Thorin straightened up and slipped his hand into Bilbo’s. “Any problems, any at all, Dr. Grey can give me a ring.”

Thorin lowered his head in acknowledgement. “Look after him for me.”

Faramir smiled knowingly. “Of course… Now, let’s get this show on the road, come on, Dain.”

It took some gentle coaxing – Dain was reluctant to leave Thorin’s side – but Faramir managed to steer the Labrador away and together they headed out of the ward, with Dain looking back at Thorin just before they were buzzed through the doors.

“Okay?” Bilbo asked quietly, squeezing Thorin’s hand.

Thorin nodded, squeezing back. It was… surreal, really. Also sort of strange. Finding himself standing in the ward, in full military uniform, without Dain: it was like a flash forward into his future… what it would be like to be completely independent again. But with the warmth of Bilbo’s hand in his, it was also like being catapulted back into the past, before he had been partnered with Dain, before he had left the ward at all…

“Come on,” came Bilbo’s soft encouragement, and Thorin let himself be pulled into his room.

He had expected to be led over to the bed, but instead Bilbo veered to the right and, dropping his hand, made to sit down behind the door.

“For old time’s sake,” Bilbo explained, smiling up at Thorin, looking a little too innocent for his liking.

Hesitating for a moment, Thorin gave in and dropped down onto the floor at Bilbo’s side, cringing at his rather clumsy movements. This really was surreal: sitting behind the door, his position mimicking Bilbo’s, like so many times before. He turned to see the younger man staring at him, still smiling.

“What?” Thorin asked carefully, feeling heat creeping into his cheeks.

“Just taking a few mental photos,” Bilbo whispered, and then his voice went lower still: “ _Captain Oakenshield_.”

Thorin felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle, and he swallowed, certain that he was actually _blushing_ of all things. “I… er, I’m glad you approve…” he said, stumbling over the words as his heart knocked against his ribs.

Bilbo smiled and they shuffled closer to each other, leaning their heads together, unable to resist a familiar gravitational pull.

“You do look very, very handsome,” Bilbo said, forming each word carefully, his voice still just as low and enticing, making Thorin shift even closer to him.

Bilbo lifted his hand to Thorin’s face, his thumb gently stroking over his jaw, and in turn, Thorin drew their lips together. The kiss was slow and sweet. It felt like an age since Thorin had kissed Bilbo like that. They kissed on both meeting and parting, and when the occasion called for it during his visits… but kissing for kissing’s sake? Oh, Thorin had truly missed this.

Their mouths melted against each other with such ease, and Thorin was making sure he savoured the warmth of Bilbo’s lips against his own. One arm snaked around Bilbo’s waist, pulling the younger man against his chest, and the other travelled up his arm, fingers tracing the creases of his grey hoodie. Bilbo responded by moving his cast-covered hand to Thorin’s neck while the other continued its stroking of his jaw.

After several blissful minutes, they broke away, and it really was like coming up for air. Thorin tried to control his heavy breaths, but he knew it was probably no use: he didn’t have a very good track record where breathing was concerned. He couldn’t deny the flutter in his stomach when he realised that Bilbo was panting too, looking totally out of breath, but still content as he leant his head against Thorin’s shoulder.

It was with clumsy movements that Thorin reached up and pulled the beret from his head: it had become skewed with their kissing, and he didn’t have the energy to adjust it with one hand. He dropped it down onto the floor at his side, his arm returning to Bilbo’s waist.

“Okay?” Bilbo asked, after a few lazy minutes of simply being wrapped around each other, their breathing slowly evening out.

Thorin rested his head back against the wall with an affirmative hum.

Bilbo pulled himself up with a grin. “Want to have another go?”

Not even bothering to offer a verbal response, Thorin hooked a finger under Bilbo’s chin and pulled their lips together. Things seemed more urgent this time and it wasn’t long before Bilbo led them into an open-mouthed kiss, his breath hot against Thorin’s lips, and then their tongues were touching. Thorin offered no resistance and eagerly followed Bilbo’s lead, tightening both his arms around him, pressing their bodies together. It had been weeks and weeks since he and Bilbo had been able to be this intimate, and he wasn’t going to waste this chance to kiss Bilbo with everything he had: he wasn’t sure when they would have such privacy again.

Bilbo’s fingers were suddenly raking through the hair at the back of his head. Thorin let out a low moan… and then stopped.

Oh shit.

It was with a horrifying feeling of déjà vu that Thorin slowly pulled away, doing his best to ignore Bilbo’s soft whine of protest.

“Bilbo…” he whispered, his voice sounding all wrong. “We… we can’t… I can’t… If we keep…”

“Shhh…” Bilbo soothed, his thumb rubbing over Thorin’s cheek. “It’s alright.”

“I-I’m sorry,” Thorin replied, unconsciously tightening his grip on Bilbo’s waist before realising that definitely wasn’t helping.

Bilbo made more shushing sounds before brushing his lips against the hollow of Thorin’s throat. “Don’t be sorry… Just let me help you.”

Thorin choked on a breath as a bolt of electricity ripped down his whole body. “Bilbo…” he warned, but even this form of protest was weak, uttered with little conviction.

Lips moved to the side of his neck and Thorin shuddered when he felt the soft scrape of teeth, feeling powerless to resist. As counter-productive as it was, he still pulled Bilbo even more firmly against him, wanting to anchor himself lest his whole body collapse under the younger man’s insistent attentions.

“It’s been a long time since your last night here,” Bilbo murmured, his lips moving from Thorin’s neck to his cheek as he drew their heads together again.

“Too long,” Thorin agreed, letting out a shivering breath. “I… I’ve missed you… missed this…”

“I wonder…” Bilbo’s voice was barely more than a whisper as he stole a kiss from Thorin’s lips. “Have you touched yourself since that night?”

Thorin choked again, his stomach doing a manic flip. He was feeling light-headed, his body soaked through with pleasure, and now it was only responding to Bilbo’s words. Could this really be happening…? Were they really going to…?

“Yes,” Thorin replied, sliding a hand down Bilbo’s arm, hearing his heart beating in his ears.

“Where?” Bilbo’s mouth was at his jaw. “In your bed?”

“In the shower.”

Bilbo let out a hum of appreciation. “And what did you think about?”

Thorin exhaled slowly. “You… Always you.”

“Flatterer,” Bilbo smirked, and the quirk of his lips sent another bolt of electricity down Thorin’s spine. “What about me?”

Thorin’s heart sped up its already manic pace. “You… naked…” he replied, his face feeling hot. “Your… your mouth.”

“Really?” Bilbo’s grin was positively wicked. “Then… will you let me use it?”

Thorin’s heart jolted. “B-Bilbo…” he spluttered. “We… we can’t… Someone will come in…”

Bilbo’s hand moved to cup Thorin’s cheek. “Do you trust me?”

Thorin studied him for a moment, aware that Bilbo sounded more like his usual self again. “Yes.”

“And do you want this?” Bilbo asked gently. “Honestly, Thorin, I’m not going to push you if this isn’t what you want.”

Thorin swallowed, feeling his whole body shudder in anticipation. “Yes… Yes, I want this.”

“Okay,” Bilbo said, his voice dropping again. “Because I want this too… Dr. Cox has told me that communication is important, and I want you to know that I’ve thought about it a lot…”

This mention of Dr. Cox was unexpected, and Thorin felt his stomach knot. Bilbo’s sessions with the therapist were progressing slowly, and he had learnt never to mention them unless Bilbo brought them up. “W-What do you think about?” he murmured, forcing himself to speak over the heavy thud of his heart.

Bilbo’s hand slid down his chest. “You, naked.” The hand settled on his stomach. “About how I want to put my mouth everywhere but your mouth.”

Thorin let out a broken sound, feeling his stomach muscles clenching beneath Bilbo’s hand. “Please…” He prayed, dazedly, that Bilbo wasn’t going to draw out this torture… and he still couldn’t quite believe that any of this was really happening. Maybe it was a dream. A very, very good dream.

“Shhh…” Bilbo’s hand was at his belt buckle, and Thorin didn’t have time to marvel at the sheer dexterity of his fingers before the buckle popped open and a hand was sliding inside his trousers.

Thorin hissed at the contact, pressing his back into the wall, and Bilbo’s lips brushed over the side of his jaw as he began to stroke him.

“Does that feel good?” Bilbo crooned into Thorin’s neck.

Thorin could only let out a soft moan in response, tilting his head back, giving Bilbo’s lips greater access.

“Lucky I didn’t break my right wrist,” Bilbo said, his tone coloured with dark humour.

He might have managed a snigger, but instead Thorin found himself taking a sharp breath as Bilbo increased the pressure of his hand, tightening his grip around him, and he had to lift his fist to his lips.

Bilbo’s breath was hot against his throat. “Are you ready for my mouth?”

Thorin’s strangled response was muffled by his hand.

“I didn’t catch that,” Bilbo said, smiling softly, his fingers stilling.

“Yes…” Thorin replied, in a gasp, lowering his fist. “Please…”

“Always so polite,” Bilbo chuckled, making Thorin hiss in another breath as he drew him out of his trousers. “Okay, love, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t put your hands in my hair…” His voice dropped even lower. “…But you’re going to need something to hold onto, so grab my hoodie all you want.”

Thorin’s throat felt raw, but he still managed a breathy “okay” before Bilbo was adjusting his position, moving back so he could lean down… and it was then that he felt his tongue.

Hand immediately shooting out to grab the grey hood in front of him, Thorin twisted the soft fabric in his fist as he tried desperately to keep quiet…which proved increasingly difficult when Bilbo took him into his mouth.

It was more blissful than he remembered, than he had imagined many times over, and Thorin arched his neck again, leaning his head back against the wall, pressing his knuckles against his lips. He could feel the pleasure coiling in the pit of his stomach and his fingers tightened around the hood.

Bilbo suddenly sped up his rhythm and Thorin choked down a curse. “Bilbo… I won’t last…”

Bilbo’s hum vibrated around him and only hastened his climax, which he could feel building and building within him. Thorin’s knuckles were now almost white around Bilbo’s hoodie. His heart was pounding manically in his chest that rose and fell with each of his short pants. He was close… He was so, so close… And then Bilbo decided to change up his movements, and he ended him with a simple flick of his tongue.

His cry was barely contained by his fist, and Thorin slumped back against the wall, his vision actually going black at the edges as the pleasure washed over him. He couldn’t move, could barely catch his breath, and so he just sat there, letting the aftershocks vibrate through his aching limbs.

Bilbo tucked him back into his trousers with his usual care and fastened his belt again. He straightened up and rested his head against Thorin’s shoulder, and Thorin could feel him shaking with his own heavy breaths. He wrapped an arm around his back, his nose nudging his forehead.

“I… I can’t believe that just happened,” Thorin said, with a definite wheeze.

Bilbo tilted his head, peering up at him. “I hope you enjoyed it.”

There was the same trace of self-doubt Thorin had heard before, and he pulled Bilbo closer to him. “You have no idea.”

They were quiet for a few moments, listening to their breaths grow steadier, and then Thorin spoke: “You planned this.”

Bilbo’s smile was sly. “When did you figure that out?”

“Just now,” Thorin replied quietly. “When I realised you wouldn’t have pulled me behind your door for any other reason.”

“Are you upset?” Bilbo murmured, his fingers fiddling with Thorin’s collar.

“That you mercilessly seduced me in a crowded hospital in the middle of the day?” Thorin asked, before pressing a kiss to Bilbo’s forehead. “ …No, I think I’ll get over it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that, dear friends, is why you should never underestimate Bilbo Baggins.


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “On the day the world ends  
> A bee circles a clover,  
> A fisherman mends a glimmering net.  
> Happy porpoises jump in the sea,  
> By the rainspout young sparrows are playing  
> And the snake is gold-skinned as it should always be.”  
> \- Czeslaw Milosz
> 
> Warning: There are brief mentions of a suicide attempt in this chapter.

Thorin’s fingers had finally lost their tremble and the crisp, white envelope was still in his hands as he stared down at the achingly familiar blue and red crest stamped in its top right-hand corner.

The afternoon had started off ordinarily enough: after having lunch with Tom and Captain Eorlingas at the AFCO he had returned home with Dain. Finding the morning’s post scattered on the scratchy, brown welcome mat, he had scooped up the collection of envelopes and left them in a wad on the kitchen table whilst he ventured upstairs to change into his usual jeans and t-shirt.

He and Dain had fallen into a comfortable routine in the few weeks they had been left alone together whilst the rest of their family were at work and school, and Thorin found security in these quotidian motions. Returning downstairs, he had let Dain out into the back garden whilst he wrangled with the coffee machine that had become a little ill-tempered as of late. As hot milk was spat at his fingers, Thorin had watched Dain sniffing at the long grass that grew around the roots of the enormous oak tree. The Labrador would look up periodically from his snuffling, eyeing Thorin through the kitchen window, checking his partner was alright.

A hard-won, steaming cup of coffee in hand, and Dain returned to his side, Thorin had settled himself down at the kitchen table and begun to sort through the post. It was one of the fairly mundane tasks he enjoyed doing: in some small way, it made him feel like he was contributing to the household. Now that he was earning again, he felt more at ease living in Dis’ home, but he still liked to help out in any way he could. This was something Fili had quickly picked up on – probably after their conversation about his civilian wardrobe. Thus, his niece had devised a ‘Chore Wheel’ for the four members of their little family unit. She’d made it herself out of coloured card: a circle was split into quarters with their names, with four chores on another, larger circle beneath it. Each week their names were rotated, and that was their chore for the week, whether it be unloading the dishwasher or taking rubbish out to the wheelie bins. As simple an ideas as it was, Fili’s ‘Chore Wheel’ had helped her uncle see himself as an essential cog in the running of the house, and made him feel as if he belonged, cementing the idea that he really had come home.

And so, on that ordinary Tuesday afternoon, Thorin had found himself sorting the post into piles. It was then that he had discovered the envelope, stamped with the Birmingham crest, addressed to Miss Fili Oakenshield. He knew Fili had submitted her application in the first week of the school term – but as she hadn’t mentioned anything this week, he hadn’t expected her to hear anything so soon.

Thorin wasn’t sure how long he had been sitting there, the letter grasped in his hands, when he heard the front door go and Fili herself appeared in the hall. Shutting the door and wiping her boots on the mat, she stopped when she caught sight of her uncle sitting at the kitchen table.

“Uncle? You okay?” she asked, arriving in the kitchen, one eyebrow raised as she dropped her rucksack to the floor. “I thought you’d be on your way to the hospital by now.”

Thorin looked up at her and swallowed. “It’s for you,” he said quietly, holding the letter out to her. “From Birmingham.”

Fili froze, her blue eyes widening. Her face seemed to lose its colour as her gaze slowly dropped down to the letter in her uncle’s hand. “But… I only sent my application in a couple of weeks ago,” she murmured, voice tight with shock.

Thorin wasn’t really sure what to say and he could feel his heart begin to pound against his ribs as he lowered his hand, still clutching the envelope. He wasn’t going to force it on Fili, especially when she clearly wasn’t quite ready to take it yet.

“Fuck,” Fili muttered, staggering down into the chair at the end of the table, perpendicular to Thorin’s own. “I… I haven’t checked my emails today: I don’t know if my UCAS tracker has updated… Fuck…”

“Do you want me to leave you alone to open it?” Thorin asked, as gently as he could manage, unnerved by Fili’s hunched posture and the look of panic in her eyes that were locked on the envelope. He wasn’t sure what else to do… Perhaps he should ring Dis at work, ask her to give Fili a pep talk before she read the letter.

“No,” Fili said, inhaling deeply. “It’s okay… Can I…?”

Her hand tentatively reached out to the envelope and Thorin gladly handed it over. Fili mimicked his pose, holding it between both hands, carefully turning it over in her fingers.

“It’s so soon,” she said, letting out a shaky breath. “Maybe it’s because my application was a definite ‘no’: they made the decision straight away.”

Thorin’s heart was aching for his niece as he watched the doubt and fear cloud her usually cheerful features. He was reminded of the morning of Results Day, when they had sat together at this very table before Fili opened a different envelope. It had been good news then, but he wasn’t sure if history would be repeating itself today.

“You said your tutor was really impressed with your personal statement,” Thorin said tentatively. “And you’ve got the AS grades Birmingham are after… They’d be mad not to make you an offer.”

This earnt a flicker of a smile as Fili ran one finger over the ornate crest in the envelope’s corner. “Thanks, Uncle,” she whispered.

Fili seemed determined to draw out the moment for as long as possible, and Thorin felt himself growing fidgety with nerves again. He reached a hand out for Dain and the Labrador pulled himself up from the floor, resting his head on Thorin’s knee.

“Okay…” Fili drew in a deep breath. “Okay… Shit… I’ll just put myself out of my misery.”

Flipping over the envelope, Fili carefully peeled it open and reached a hand inside. Thorin’s fingers stilled in the thick fur of Dain’s neck, and he felt his heart crawl into his throat as Fili pulled out the letter and unfolded it. There was a moment of absolute silence as her eyes scanned the page, and then she let out a broken sob and Thorin’s stomach sank. The letter dropped from her quivering hands onto the table as she turned to look at him.

“I got in,” she whispered, lips barely moving.

Thorin felt a sharp stab of confusion in his abdomen. “ _What_?”

“I got in!” Fili repeated, her eyes filling with water as her face was split into a wide smile.

“You… you got in?” Thorin echoed, instinctively scrambling for the letter.

Fili let out a relieved laugh that seemed to be mixed with a cry lodged in her throat, and the first tears began to slip down her cheeks that were still pulled tight with her surprised grin.  “I got in,” she said again, as if this was the only sentence either of them was capable of saying, sheer disbelief preventing all other words from passing their lips.

“Will you read it to me?” Fili asked, voice trembling. “I… I need to be sure… And I can’t really… see straight at the moment.” She reached a hand up to wipe at her eyes.

“I’m not sure I can either,” Thorin said, with a shaky laugh. “Right…” He cleared his throat as best he could and held up the letter. His eyes moved from the colourful crest in its corner – larger than the one on the envelope – to the paragraph beneath it. “Dear Miss Oakenshield,” he read aloud. “We are delighted to inform you that your application to study BA Anthropology and Political Science has been successful and we would like to make you an offer subject to the conditions stated below…” Familiar feelings of pride burst in Thorin’s chest as he lifted his eyes from the letter to look at Fili and he felt tears begin to prickle in their corners.

Fili laughed again, furiously wiping at her own eyes. “Oh my God… I can’t believe I actually got in… I can’t…”

She suddenly stilled, and then another sob left her and she buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking. Concerned, Thorin dragged his chair next to hers and put a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Fili?” he murmured, brows knitted.

There was no audible reply, and instead Fili turned and snuggled into her uncle, letting out a choked sob. Thorin froze, a little shocked at first, but then he regained himself and wrapped his arms around his niece, letting her push her face into his chest. He rested his chin on her golden hair, one hand stroking through the strands that fell over her back. It seemed this news was just too overwhelming, and he knew exactly what that felt like. Dain padded around Thorin’s chair and studied them both, head tilted in concern. He let out a low whine and nosed at Thorin’s elbow.

“We’re alright,” Thorin reassured him, rubbing Fili’s back. “Aren’t we, Fili?”

Fili sniffled as she slowly drew away, rubbing at her eyes. Her mascara and eyeliner had run, streaking her cheeks with black lines, making them look grey and bruised, but Thorin decided now was probably not the time to point this out. Instead, he simply gave her questioning look, not wanting to pry, but still more than a little worried.

“It’s just… I thought I’d fucked up my life…” Fili said, eyes returning to the envelope. “When I failed all my Year 10 exams and everything was such a mess… I thought I’d never do anything… good… But then, God, I’ve worked so hard to make up for that...”

“And it’s paid off,” Thorin said, beaming now that he knew Fili’s tears were more out of relief and joy than anything sinister. He squeezed her arm, warm feelings continuing to flower inside him. “I’m so proud of you, Fili.”

“Uncle, you’re going to make me cry again!” Fili scolded, but she was smiling. She reached for the letter, reading over it, her smile only widening. “I’m going to Birmingham… I’m actually going… They’ve given me an ‘ABB’ offer: that’s totally do-able.”

“Why don’t you come with me to the hospital?” Thorin suggested, straightening up. “I think Bilbo will want to hear this news from you in person.” He had already rung ahead to the ward to let them know about the letter and that he was waiting for Fili to get home from school. Bilbo was, no doubt, waiting on tenterhooks to hear the outcome. With Kili round at Sam’s for dinner, there was no reason why Fili couldn’t be there to deliver the news herself.

“Of course!” Fili grinned. “I need to throw myself at his feet and thank him for all the help he gave me with my application.”

“You’re just as melodramatic as he is,” Thorin said fondly. “Okay, there’s a bus in twenty minutes, but you need to ring your mum and tell her first… and, er, maybe… wash your face?”

“Ah, my make-up’s smeared everywhere, isn’t it?” Fili asked, one finger reached up to her cheek and coming away covered in flecks of black. “Super attractive.”

Thorin chuckled as Fili got to her feet and pulled her phone from her jeans pocket.

“I’ll be down in five,” she said, already turning into the hallway and heading towards the stairs.

Thorin watched her disappear, unable to stop smiling, and he couldn’t wait to see the look on Bilbo’s face.

 

…

 

As it turned out, Fili wasn’t literally going to fall down at Bilbo’s feet, but she had insisted on dragging Thorin to the florist’s on the main road near the park. She had been quick and efficient in her selection of an autumnal bouquet of orange germini, gold carnations, and red oak leaves. Watching her writing the card on the bus, Thorin felt oddly guilty about the fact that he’d never thought to bring Bilbo flowers before… but then Bilbo had been so enthusiastic about his gifts of baked goods that it hadn’t occurred to him to bring anything else.

The flowers seemed to take up a great deal of space in the lift and they hid Fili’s face completely as she staggered through the doors onto the ward, following her uncle. Bilbo was waiting for them at the nurses’s station, speaking in hushed tones with Rosie, and this, more than anything, indicated to Thorin just how anxious the younger man was to hear their news. He turned to greet them and his face lit up at the sight of the flowers.

“So,” Fili said, unable to contain the glee in her expression that lit up her bright eyes. “I got into Birmingham.”

“Oh, Fili, that’s fantastic news!” Bilbo replied, his green eyes equally bright. “And hearing so soon: they must be desperate to have you!”

“And it’s all thanks to you,” Fili grinned, and then she held out the bouquet of flowers. “So I got you these, just to, you know, say thank you for all your help with my personal statement.”

“These are beautiful, Fili,” Bilbo said, taking the flowers and holding them with reverence. “But there really is no need to thank me – you did all the hard work yourself.”

“I’ll go and grab a vase,” Rosie put in, with a knowing smile. “And congratulations, Fili!”

Bilbo carefully handed the flowers over to the nurse as she came around the station, and Poppy moved in to take her place.

“Right, let’s get you both signed in,” she said cheerily, pulling out two visitor badges.

Fili moved forward first and Thorin turned to share a private smile with Bilbo, only to find the younger man wasn’t looking at him. His gaze didn’t seem to be focused on anything in particular, but his expression was… well, Thorin wasn’t exactly sure what it was. It seemed, somehow, to be a look of resignation, of grim acceptance. It made his stomach twist uncomfortably and he reached out a hand to Bilbo’s arm. He startled at Thorin’s touch, but then looked up with a smile and moved in to his side, wrapping an arm around his back. In turn, Thorin put an arm around his shoulders and pulled him closer, kissing his forehead.

“Thank you,” he said quietly. It wasn’t a bouquet of flowers, but still he hoped the whispered words communicated just how much he appreciated all that Bilbo had done for Fili this summer.

“Your turn, Uncle,” Fili said happily, turning and holding out the black biro to him. Her smile became crooked at the sight of Thorin and Bilbo embracing.

Thorin coughed, his arm falling from Bilbo’s shoulder, and he moved forward, taking the pen. Quickly filling in his badge, he returned to Bilbo’s side and then their little party proceeded to Bilbo’s room.

“So, have you brought your acceptance letter?” Bilbo asked, his small smile indicating that he already knew the answer, as he settled himself on his bed with Fili and Thorin taking seats at either side of him.

“Of course!” Fili was practically glowing as she reached for her rucksack and pulled out the white envelope, holding it out for Bilbo.

Bilbo treated the letter with the same reverence as the flowers and, unfolding it carefully, his green-grey eyes travelled over it for a few long moments. Fili watched him, looking almost nervous, as if awaiting a verdict.

“This is wonderful, Fili,” Bilbo said quietly, his thumb brushing over the crest in the letter’s top corner. “And they’ve made you an offer so quickly as well.”

“I know, I wasn’t expecting to hear anything for ages,” Fili replied. “How long did you have to wait for an offer when you applied?”

Bilbo’s brow crinkled in concentration, as if he was dredging up a memory from the depths of his mind. “Oh, it was a good three months – I didn’t send my application off until November, so it was a bitterly cold February afternoon when I got back from school and found the letter waiting for me on the mat.”

Thorin knew Bilbo would have been in foster care at this point, and he wondered if his family had been supportive. The picture came to him of an eighteen-year-old Bilbo sitting on his bed in an empty house, still wrapped in his coat and scarf, opening his own letter.

“Here we go!” Rosie appeared with Bilbo’s flowers now beautifully arranged in a large, swirled glass vase.

“Where did you steal that from?” Bilbo asked, eyeing the vase with a smirk.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Rosie replied innocently. “But you know the acute care wards are practically hoarding vases – I picked one of the nicer ones for you.”

“Very kind of you.”

“So, where do you want them?”

“Oh, they’d look lovely on my windowsill.” Bilbo’s gaze turned to his window. “You’ll just have to budge old Ganesh over a bit.”

Thorin watched as Rosie placed the flowers on the low coffee table so she could move the bronzed statue of Ganesh to one corner of the sill. She also picked up the clumsily folded paper crane – which Thorin couldn’t believe Bilbo had insisted on keeping – and set it down in the other corner so she could put the vase in the middle, completing the trinity of gifts.

“Thank you, Rosie,” Bilbo said, grinning at the nurse as she disappeared from the room.

There was a loud buzz and a chime, making Thorin jump, and then Fili pulled her phone from her pocket.

“Sorry, that’s me,” Fili said, tapping away. “I may have sent out a group text to like my entire phone book.”

“So you’ve let your mum know?” Bilbo asked. “She must be so proud of you.”

“Yeah, I rang her before we got the bus – she was in a faculty meeting so she was doing her restrained teacher-voice thing, but I think she might have actually been crying.”

“Did you text Balin and Dwalin?” Thorin murmured, scratching Dain’s ears.

Fili pocketed her phone. “Not yet. Mum said we should Skype them tonight, after she picks us up from here and Kili’s back from Sam’s.”

Thorin nodded. Dwalin wasn’t going to be happy when his brother dragged him in front of his laptop, but at least it was for a good reason.

“So, Bilbo…” Fili shifted on her seat, smiling almost shyly. “From one Birmingham grad to a prospective one… Got any advice?”

 

…

 

Thorin leaned down and gently pressed his lips to the pale skin of Bilbo’s wrist. He felt Bilbo’s chest shudder with a chuckle beneath him and then fingers were affectionately carding through his hair.

“When did you become such a sap?” Bilbo asked fondly, as Thorin shifted back to his former position, lying on his side, next to him on the bed.

“Just welcoming your wrist back into the world,” Thorin murmured, nuzzling at the curls falling over Bilbo’s ear as his arm returned to his waist.

The cast on Bilbo’s left wrist had been removed that morning, and Thorin had simply wanted to celebrate its reclaimed freedom. After working his first afternoon shift at the AFCO, Thorin had arrived during the later evening visiting hours. The ward was quieter without the daytime rush and with autumn fully stretching its legs as they moved through September, the sun was beginning to set earlier, meaning the sky outside Bilbo’s window was the same colour as the vase of flowers on the sill: a beautiful burnt orange, streaked with red and gold.

“Fili got a post-offer welcome pack in the post this morning,” Thorin said, trying to sound casual and not too tentative.

“Oh?” Bilbo turned to study him. “What have they sent?”

“She seems most excited by the Birmingham University pen… But they’ve also invited her to a post-offer open day, just to have a look around the campus, see her halls, go to a couple of lectures.”

“That sounds lovely. Is Dis going to go down with her?”

Thorin was sure Bilbo caught the flicker in his expression. He swallowed, feeling the knot in his stomach jolt, before replying: “She is, but… Fili wants me to come as well.”

Bilbo peered up at him. “Okay?”

“It’s, er, it’s quite a long day… So I don’t think I’d be able to make it back in time for visiting hours.”

Bilbo’s expression was closed off. “That’s alright, we’ll just have to see each other the next day and you can tell me all about it.”

“You’re sure? You… don’t mind?” Thorin asked quietly, the knot remaining in his stomach. He and Bilbo had seen each other every day for five months, and he wasn’t sure how the younger man would react to him missing a visit.

“Of course not,” Bilbo said, fingers fiddling with the sleeve of Thorin’s shirt. “This is important, and you should be there.”

Thorin pressed a kiss to Bilbo’s neck, snuggling closer to him. “Okay,” he mumbled. “But the open day’s not for a while yet, so…” He trailed off, suspecting they would probably need to talk about this again closer to the time.

They were quiet for a few long moments, Thorin resting his head on Bilbo’s shoulder as the younger man’s fingers continued to trace the soft material of his shirt.

“It’s strange, really, how some things come full circle,” Bilbo said, breaking their silence.

Thorin shifted up onto his elbow. “You mean with Fili going to Birmingham?”

“Hmm. I’m glad… I’m glad to be passing the torch, as it were.”

“She really is excited about it,” Thorin said, smiling as he remembered the unearthly sounds Fili made as she sorted through everything in her open day pack. “I’ve never seen her so happy.”

“And what about you?” Bilbo asked, studying Thorin with a strange look in his eyes.

Thorin arched an eyebrow. “What?”

“Are you happy?”

At first Thorin thought Bilbo meant about Fili getting into Birmingham, but then he realised the question was far broader than that. The idea of ‘happiness’ was something that had been generally avoided in all of Thorin’s conversations for the past six months. Being happy was a state he thought he would never be able to achieve again, not after the bullet… but then he thought of the look on Fili’s face as she opened her acceptance letter, of Kili asking Bilbo to be his uncle, of Dis embracing her daughter when she picked them up from the hospital on Tuesday, and of Bilbo currently lying in his arms. He had come an awfully long way since the bullet.

“Yes,” Thorin replied, pulling Bilbo closer to his chest. “Yes, I’m happy.”

“Good,” was all Bilbo said in reply, his gaze fixed on the ceiling above him. “That’s good.”

They returned to silence, Bilbo twining their hands together on his stomach, thumb stroking over Thorin’s. Thorin had begun to dose, his mind lured towards sleep by the comfort and warmth of Bilbo tucked at his side, when he heard a hum of voices outside the room and footsteps in the corridor. He looked up to see a few visitors clustering by the nurses’ station, waiting to sign out, and his eyes flicked up to the clock above Bilbo’s door.

“Radagast will come and chase me out soon,” he said regretfully, as he pulled himself into a sitting position.

A look of pain flashed in Bilbo’s eyes and it made Thorin stop.

“Or, I could just, you know, hide under the bed,” he said, attempting a smile, reaching for Bilbo’s hand again.

Bilbo squeezed his hand, sitting up, a wicked grin appearing. “You could hide under my covers instead?”

“A very tempting offer,” Thorin said, leaning down for a quick kiss.

As he drew away, Bilbo chased his lips, pulling him in for another soft, slower kiss.

“My session is at eleven tomorrow,” Thorin said, leaning his forehead against Bilbo’s. “So we can have lunch together.”

Bilbo's fingers tightened on the top of his shirt sleeve. “That sounds good.”

The voices out in the corridor were multiplying and Thorin knew he should probably make a move. He kissed Bilbo’s forehead and shifted on the bed, but before he could swing his legs over the side, Bilbo pulled him back into an embrace.

“I love you,” he whispered, pushing his forehead into Thorin’s shoulder.

Thorin wrapped his arms around Bilbo’s back, feeling an ache growing in his chest. He knew Bilbo found it difficult when it came to the end of visiting hours, and he hated leaving him here… the words rang in his ears once again: _“… and every time you leave it’s like I’m reliving your discharge all over again.”_

Thorin pushed his nose into Bilbo’s curls. “I love you too.”

They stayed sitting on the bed with their arms wrapped around each other for another long minute, and then Bilbo slowly pulled away.

“You need to go,” he murmured.

With a reluctant nod, Thorin swung his legs over the bed and slipped on his shoes. Dain clambered to his feet with a huff and waited patiently whilst his lead was clipped on and his jacket adjusted.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Thorin said softly, reaching out and brushing his thumb over Bilbo’s cheek.

Bilbo smiled. “See you tomorrow.”

And with that, Thorin headed out of the room, glancing behind only once as he passed through the doorway, before moving towards the nurses’ station to join the queue to sign out.

 

…

 

Thorin sat bolt upright in bed, his chest heaving. Dain quickly scrambled into his lap and nuzzled at his shoulder, licking his neck in reassurance. Instinctively sliding his arms around the Labrador, Thorin’s eyes darted around his room as he attempted to draw in a deep breath and calm himself. The digital clock radio on his bedside table told him that it was just past nine in the morning. He’d had trouble falling asleep last night and had read until the early hours. Luckily, he wasn’t working at the AFCO today and he didn’t need to be at the hospital until eleven for his session. It wasn’t as if he’d overslept… so what was it that had woken him so violently?

Sinking his fingers into the thick fur of Dain’s neck, Thorin inhaled another shuddering breath, feeling his heart pummelling his ribs, almost beating into Dain’s back.

“Uncle? Are you okay?”

Fili’s voice sounded from the other side of his door. Thorin knew she had a free period on her timetable this morning, so she wasn’t due in school for another hour or so.

“I-I’m fine,” Thorin stammered, aware that he really didn’t sound it.

“Can I come in?” Fili asked gently. She had no doubt picked up on the tremor in her uncle’s voice.

Thorin let out a soft sigh of defeat. “Yes.”

Fili slipped into the room, dressed but still holding her hairbrush: her blonde hair was knotted in a bird's nest tangle at one side. She carefully approached his bed and sat down, perching on its bottom corner. Thorin recognised her look of scrutiny, although it was less intense than her mother’s assessing gaze.

“Bad dream?” she murmured, blue eyes now sympathetic rather than searching.

“I… I’m not sure,” Thorin replied, and he wasn’t: he couldn’t remember having dreamt about anything in particular, he was now just left with a sickly feeling settling at the bottom of his stomach as his breathing slowly evened out.

“Well, how about you get dressed and meet me in the kitchen, and I’ll make us coffee and toast?” Fili suggested, with a small smile.

Thorin nodded, wanting to shake off this horrible feeling as soon as possible, and staying alone in his room wasn’t going to help that. “Sounds good to me.”

“Excellent, see you down there!” Hairbrush in hand, Fili disappeared from the room, making sure she closed the door behind her.

Lying back down for a few moments, Dain at his side with his head on his chest, Thorin drew a few long breaths, in and out, and rubbed a hand over his beard. He then nudged Dain away and climbed out of bed. Going to his chest of drawers, he pulled out his clothes and quickly dressed for the day. Once he had opened his curtains and made his bed, he took his morning medication, making sure this was witnessed by Dain, and then headed to the bathroom.

Making his way downstairs to the kitchen, he felt the sickly feelings continuing to stir in his stomach, and he really couldn’t put his finger on what was causing them. Today was another day of routine, with nothing out of the ordinary due to happen. Attempting to shrug them off, he arrived in the kitchen to find Fili dropping slices of bread into the toaster as the coffee machine hissed and spat in the background.

“Hey,” Fili greeted him with a cheerful smile. Her hair had been tamed into a messy bun and she’d added a military-looking grey jacket to her ensemble. “So, why has your coffee machine become such a knob? It’s only a few months old, it can’t be broken already.”

Thorin managed a smile at that as he took a seat at the kitchen table. “I don’t know how old that is in coffee machine years, but I’d say it’s going through the terrible twos.”

“Or its rebellious teenage years,” Fili smirked. “Right, what do you want on your toast?”

Thorin swallowed. “I… I’m not really very hungry. I think I’ll just have a coffee.”

“Okay.” Fili raised an eyebrow as she collected a mug from the machine. “You’re sure you’re feeling alright?”

Thorin took the mug she handed to him, trying, and most probably failing, to make his smile look convincing. “My stomach’s just a bit delicate this morning, I’m sure it’s nothing.”

The toast popped up and Fili fished it out onto her waiting plate. She went and set the coffee machine off again, before coming to join her uncle at the table.

“You might be coming down with a bug or something,” Fili said, the look of scrutiny returning. “Will you please let Dr. Grey know when you see him? Niece’s orders.”

“I will, promise,” Thorin assured her, taking a tentative sip of his coffee, trying to ignore the twist in his stomach.

Fili demolished her toast fairly quickly, and they chatted about her latest assignment set by her History teacher, Mr. Greenwood, and how she was going to top the A-grade essay she had written using Bilbo’s books. As ten o’ clock approached, Fili whisked their dishes away into the dishwasher. She gave Thorin’s shoulder a brief squeeze, murmuring “See you soon, Uncle”, and then she was out the door, heading towards her own morning bus.

Thorin did very little for the next half hour, finding he couldn’t really settle himself in front of daytime television, and soon it was time for him to also make his way to the bus stop. The Number 3 arrived around the corner on time and then he was city centre-bound. The day was cool but dry and Thorin contented himself with studying the windows of blue in the otherwise grey, clouded sky. The bus was particularly quiet that morning and it wasn’t until he glanced to his left that he realised the pram bay was empty. Emily, the little red-haired girl who had been so fascinated by Dain, and her mother usually rode this bus into town on Thursdays and Fridays. Thorin had struck up a kind of odd, silent friendship with the young family, and he wondered, absently, where they were this morning.

The bus arrived at the hospital stop just before eleven and soon Thorin was in the lift, travelling up to the ward, wishing his stomach would just settle down. Well, at least if he was sick, this was probably the best place to be.

The lift doors slid open and Thorin stepped out, approaching the ward doors. He was about to press the call button when two harassed looking nurses appeared, having clearly just sprinted up the stairs. One obviously recognised Thorin and buzzed him through, before they both hurried off round the corner.

The first thing Thorin witnessed when entering the ward was Haldir kicking a medical waste bin down the dayroom corridor, letting out a furious snarl as he did so. Another junior doctor rushed to placate him, but he shoved their arm away.

Something was very wrong.

The atmosphere on the ward was… off. There were no patients about and the air seemed charged with a kind of terrible electricity. And suddenly his presence was noticed and all eyes were on him. Every member of staff seemed to stop, frozen on the spot, as they cast panicked sideways glances at each other.

It was Radagast who came forward first, moving from the nurses’ station to stand in front of him. The old nurse’s face was pale beneath his wiry beard and his eyes looked oddly reddened.  

“Thorin,” he said carefully. “I need you to come with me.”

Thorin’s heart started beating painfully fast inside his chest and his stomach gave a sickly lurch. “What’s happened?” His voice was barely more than a whisper, the words sounding strangled.

“We just need to go somewhere a little more private,” Radagast explained, reaching out for Thorin’s arm to steer him away.

Thorin shrunk back, hand flexing around Dain’s lead, his breaths coming short and sharp as his heart thundered on. “Tell me,” he said hoarsely.

Radagast moved forward, his hand reaching out again. “Thorin –”

“Tell me!” Thorin’s chest was heaving as he backed away, eyes wide and hands shaking.

The nurse glanced, helplessly, over his shoulder at a doctor standing at the nurses’ station, and the doctor returned a grim nod.

“Thorin, I need you to listen to me carefully now,” Radagast said, turning back to him, his voice low and controlled. “About fifteen minutes ago, Bilbo attempted to take his own life. We found him in time, but he’s lost a lot of blood. He’s just been taken down to acute care and –”

Thorin heard no more. There was nothing but one long, shrill note sounding in his ears as his chest erupted with pain and every breath he had left him. He dropped Dain’s lead and staggered back, crashing through the ward doors.

And Thorin set off running as the whole world collapsed around him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. This is the moment I’ve been working towards for thirty-two chapters and well over a year. The next plot arc is going to be very heavy, and I fully understand if there are some of you who won’t be able to read it: trigger-free summaries will be available, please just let me know if this is something you would be interested in. 
> 
> I also want all my readers to know you are not alone. I do my best to make sure my comments section is a safe-space and I will happily talk with any of you about issues relating to mental health. Below is a useful Tumblr post, for anyone who may ever need it. 
> 
> http://prythiancourt.tumblr.com/post/118580441391/the-treble-argentina-suicide-hotlines-armenia
> 
> Finally, guys, I want to honestly thank you for all your help and support with this fic. This chapter was a very difficult one to write, and I just hope you can all continue to stick with me, even though the road ahead is paved with obstacles and isn’t going to be an easy one.


	33. Chapter 33

_You have 7 missed calls._

_You have 5 new messages and no saved messages._

_New messages…_

 

[ _received at 11:12_ ]: Hello, Thorin, this is Dr. Grey calling from Ered Luin… I understand that the news you have received this morning is incredibly distressing… and therefore we are all concerned for your welfare… Please will you contact someone from the hospital, either myself or the ward, or a member of your family to let us know where you are…? We all just want to know that you are safe and make sure we can provide you with any support you might need…

 

[ _received at 11:24_ ]: Thorin, sweetheart, it’s Dis… I’m just leaving work in the car now… Dr. Grey… I’ve heard from Dr. Grey and, love, I know you must… God, you must be in so much pain right now, I know you’re hurting… but please will you ring someone and just let us know you’re safe…? I’ll be home in about fifteen minutes… if that’s where you are, just sit tight for me and I’ll be with you really soon… Okay, love, bye…

 

[ _received at 11:42_ ]: Thorin… I… I’m at home, and you’re not here… Dr. Grey says they haven’t heard anything at the hospital and… Sweetheart, I’m worried about you… I know you’ll probably want to be on your own right now… but please, please, Thorin, will you tell someone where you are? If you don’t want to talk to me or Dr. Grey… please will you ring Fili? She’ll pick up no problem… Please… Please just let someone know you’re okay...

 

[ _received at 12:01_ ]: Thorin, I wanted to update you on the situation here at Ered Luin… Bilbo is in a stable condition and is now resting… Dain is also here with us. Faramir is looking after him, but he is clearly worried about you, as we all are… I have no intention of forcing you into any unwelcome situations and I want to provide you with a safe space to process the events of this morning… We just need to know that you are somewhere safe and comfortable… If you are unable to call, a text is more than sufficient… But, please, Thorin, do get in touch…

 

[ _received at 12:21_ ]: … [ _inaudible_ ] … Thorin… Thorin, please… Oh God, please don’t do anything stupid… I can’t… I…

 

_End of messages._


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *distributes shock blankets and tissues and chocolate biscuits and tea*
> 
> *runs for the hills*
> 
> Warning: This chapter features dissociative fugue (fugue state), temporary memory loss, symptoms of panic, and discussion of Bilbo’s suicide attempt. If anyone would like a trigger-free summary of this chapter, please do let me know in a comment.

_“ – asn’t feeling very well this morn –”_

Pain.

_“ – seen him this bad before, but I can’t ge –”_

His chest was on fire.

_“ – Dr. Grey won’t answer his – ”_

Thorin returned to himself with a horrible jolt, dragging a jagged breath into his burning lungs, suddenly feeling a cold wall pressing against his back and hard, scratchy carpet beneath his hands.

The world around him was a blur of muddied, muted colours. Half-formed shapes, like grainy shadows, were moving in front of him as brighter lights slowly emerged from the fog.

He couldn’t breathe. There was a weight pressing down on his chest, almost crunching his ribs beneath it, making pain shoot out across his body. There was a deep, gnawing ache at his temples and his right hand was cramping even as his fingers trembled, the knuckles full of a searing heat as if they had been cut open. He could feel his shoulders shaking as he desperately tried to suck in another breathe, and this only made his whole body spasm.

“Uncle…? Uncle, can you hear me?”

Thorin blinked, his eyes feeling raw and dry. The scene before him was painted with rough edges and rippling lines, but a familiar face gradually materialised from the clouded background.

He was with Fili.

His niece was kneeling in front of him, her blonde hair falling over her eyes, which were full of worry, her brow furrowed with concern. Thorin tried to form her name, but his lips refused to co-operate, his tongue feeling like a dead weight in his mouth, and the struggle only sent more stabbing pains shooting out from his chest.

“It’s okay, Uncle,” Fili said gently, her hands hovering near his knees. “You’re okay, you’re safe… Do you know who I am?”

Thorin slowly dipped his chin, his jaw tight.

“Great… and do you know where you are?”

Thorin’s ribs seemed to close like the fingers of a fist around his lungs as his eyes darted around the large, open room.

No.

He had no idea where he was, or how he had gotten here.

Peering over Fili’s shoulder, he realised there was a corridor leading off from an open doorway behind her… and another corridor to their right… so this wasn’t really a room at all, more like a foyer of some sort. He swallowed, making his throat burn, and leaving an awful taste in his mouth… it almost tasted like… As his other senses sluggishly clicked back in his mind, a horrible but familiar smell assaulted his nostrils. One glance down confirmed that his jacket was spotted with dried vomit stains.

Thorin made a choked noise of distress in the back of his throat, but the words still wouldn’t come, his lips remaining chapped and still.

“Hey, Uncle, look at me,” Fili urged, her voice as soft as before.

Thorin’s eyes flicked up from his jacket.

“You’re at my school, you’re at Erebor Grammar, in the main reception,” Fili explained carefully. “We, er, we’ve no idea how you got here… But you’re safe, okay? Nothing bad’s going to happen now…”

Fili’s school.

He was sitting in the main reception of Fili’s school… Distant sounds of bustling and laughter reached his ears, along with the low ring of a phone. But what the hell was he doing here? His lungs shuddered with his sharp breaths and he reached out a trembling hand… and stopped. Dain was gone. Dain was gone, and he suddenly felt even more exposed and alone. Making another strangled noise of panic, Thorin tried to lurch forward in a dizzying movement, but then Fili was guiding him back down, her hands only lightly touching his shoulders as she made quiet shushing sounds.

Thorin stared at her desperately, trying to force himself to speak, but it was an exhausting, futile battle… the words withered and became sickly-tasting ash in his mouth.

“Dain isn’t here, Uncle,” Fili murmured, failing to hide the panic that flashed in her eyes. “But I’m sure someone has him and he’s safe too.”

“Who’s Dain?”

Thorin flinched back against the wall at the sound of an unfamiliar voice, hunching his shaking shoulders, trying to pull his knees into his chest in an almost defensive posture.

There was a man standing to Fili’s left. He was middle-aged, noticeably stout and broad-shouldered - probably a few inches under six foot. He was dressed in football shorts and trainers. His navy, waterproof jacket was emblazoned with the Erebor Grammar crest: the typical garb of a P.E. teacher.

“My uncle’s assistance dog,” Fili answered, without turning, and the lines on her forehead only deepened.

“We’ve left a message for your mum, Fili.”

There was a flash of red hair, and a second teacher appeared behind Fili. Thorin felt some vague memory stirring in the back of his mind, and then there was a spark of recognition: it was Miss Silvan, Kili’s English teacher. She leaned down and put a hand on Fili’s shoulder before asking in a low voice: “… Are you sure you don’t want us to call an ambulance?”

“No!”

Fili and Miss Silvan both jumped at Thorin’s growled protest, and Thorin himself hit his back against the wall in shock, his lungs coughing up fire as shudders wracked his whole body. He had no idea where this response had sprung from, but it was something instinctive, almost a reflex reaction, and somehow he just knew… He knew he didn’t want to go back to the hospital…

“Okay, okay, Uncle,” Fili whispered, tentatively reaching out and placing a warm, placating hand over his. “We won’t call an ambulance; we’ll figure this out, promise.”

He didn’t want to go back to the hospital.

But why…?

There was still a dull, driving pain in his head, but he forced himself to remember, to dredge up what shreds of memory he could, trying to think back to what had happened that morning… He had woken up suddenly… There were sickly feelings crawling up from his stomach… Riding the bus alone… His hand reaching out to push open the ward doors and…

_“About fifteen minutes ago, Bilbo attempted to take his own life. We found him in time, but he’s lost a lot of blood. He’s just been taken down to acute care and –”_

It felt as if the floor had disappeared from under him.

An all-new agony wrenched his heart against his ribs.

_“About fifteen minutes ago, Bilbo attempted to take his own life. We found him in time, but –”_

Thorin let out a cry, hunching forward, his whole body contorting with pain.

It was unbearable.

_“Bilbo attempted to take his own life…”_

It was as if his chest had been ripped open, as if he was bleeding inwardly.

_“…attempted to take his own life…”_

The words echoed, over and over again, in his mind, ringing out like a terrible knell, their meaning settling over him like a shroud.

Bilbo had tried to kill himself.

He had left him, and Bilbo had tried to kill himself, had almost bled to death somewhere in the hospital.

Thorin’s eyes were burning as he dragged his knees into his chest, and his left knee stung as the denim fabric of his jeans brushed over it, but this pain was nothing compared to that created by the chasm opening up in his chest.

“Hey, Uncle… Uncle, stay with me,” Fili said, a noticeable waver in her voice, as she reached for Thorin’s hand again.

The first tears dribbled from Thorin’s eyes as he studied Fili, the cry trapped in his throat. Did she know…? Did she know what had happened…?

“We need to get him somewhere more private,” Fili sighed, rocking back on her heels as she looked up at her teachers. “Somewhere quiet where I can try calm him down properly.”

“My office is just round the corner,” the P.E. teacher replied, taking a step towards Thorin.

Thorin shrank back against the wall in one jerky movement, coughing as he struggled to breathe through the excess of pain the action had caused.

The teacher looked stricken, but Fili turned to him with an apologetic expression. “My uncle’s just a bit… uncomfortable with being touched,” she explained, before turning back to Thorin, her blue gaze warm and calm. “Uncle… This is Mr. Proudfoot: he’s my Head of House and he’s awesome… We’re going to take you somewhere nice and quiet, but I don’t think I’m quite strong enough to help you get there on my own… Will you let Mr. Proudfoot support you with me?”

Thorin’s eyes slowly moved to Mr. Proudfoot, who offered him a kind smile, ensuring he didn’t move any closer. The idea of moving anywhere was hardly appealing: Thorin didn’t really want to move at all, apart from curling in on himself, and what did it matter anyway…? Wherever he went, the pain would go with him.

Bilbo’s face suddenly flashed in front of his eyes.

He felt Bilbo’s fingers tightening on the top of his shirt sleeve.

_“… I love you.”_

The words carved themselves deep into the cavern of Thorin’s chest. He knew what they meant now.

They meant goodbye.

Thorin screwed up his eyes, squeezing tears from their corners. He hadn’t realised… Bilbo had obviously been planning this, and he hadn’t realised. Bilbo hadn’t said one word to him about how he was really feeling… and yet Thorin claimed to love him. He hunched forward again, the guilt sprouting oily, back tendrils in his stomach.

“No… no, come on, Uncle, it’s okay,” Fili said firmly, taking his hand again. “Just breathe for me… This will pass, okay? You’re going to be alright… We’ve done this before, haven’t we? Remember when you had a panic attack in your room when you were unpacking? And I forced you to do yoga…? So we’ve done this before, and we’ll do it again… I just want to make you a bit more comfortable… Sitting on the floor out here isn’t ideal, is it?”

Fili smiled slyly at him, her blue eyes bright, and what was left of Thorin’s heart shrivelled. She really didn’t know.

And he couldn’t tell her. He couldn’t say the words out loud.

“So how about we get you up and get you comfy?” Fili asked gently, squeezing his hand. “Are you okay with Mr. Proudfoot helping?”

Thorin glanced at the P.E. teacher again, before giving a stiff nod.

“Okay,” Fili smiled. “Let’s get you up.”

Mr. Proudfoot and Fili moved forward whilst Miss Silvan hovered silently behind them. It wasn’t without difficulty, but they got him to his feet. Thorin felt his stomach lurch as he straightened up and sickly-tasting bile rose in his throat, but still he managed to stand.

“Lean on me, mate,” Mr. Proudfoot said, his accent broad and voice deep. “It’s alright, I’ve got you.”

Knowing there was no way he could support his own weight, Thorin reluctantly accepted the offer, sagging into the shorter man, who had wrapped Thorin’s arm around his broad shoulders. His other arm was draped around Fili, who was also supporting him.

“It’s just round the corner, Uncle,” Fili murmured. “We’ll be there in no time.”

Their little party moved forward and Thorin’s left knee began to burn again, but he gritted his teeth and forced himself to keep taking steps.

The short journey to Mr. Proudfoot’s office seemed to take an age, as if all of them were moving underwater, but finally they arrived in the small, bright office with large windows. Mr. Proudfoot and Fili helped Thorin settle down into one of the low, soft chairs opposite his desk. The P.E. teacher then stepped back, giving Thorin plenty of space, letting Fili kneel down in front of him.

“Matt, have you got a first aid kit in here?” Miss Silvan asked, from her place by the door.

Mr. Proudfoot turned. “Yeah, it’s in the bottom of the cupboard next to you.”

Miss Silvan immediately opened the cupboard and began rooting around. “I just think we should sort out that hand.”

At these words, Thorin once again registered the scorching pain in his right hand. He looked down and saw that the knuckles were bruised and bloodied, the dark red scabs standing out against his pale, trembling skin.

_“We found him in time, but he’s lost a lot of blood…”_

Thorin’s heart slammed itself against his ribs and a hole was ripped anew in his chest.

It was agony.

He had lain in his own blood in the middle of the desert with his skull feeling as if it was being split in two, but that was nothing compared to this…

“Shit, Uncle…” Fili’s voice cut through the cloying fog in his mind. “I can tell you’re in a lot of pain… Can you tell me what hurts…? I’m worried you might have fallen down on your way over here…”

Thorin eyed Fili warily. He hadn’t the words to tell her that the majority of his pain didn’t have a physical cause, but he still moved his bloodied hand to his chest before dropping it down to rest over his left knee, wincing as he pressed the denim into the skin.

“Okay,” Fili said softly. “Miss Silvan wants to clean your right hand up… is that alright? Do you remember Miss Silvan?”

Eyes flicking to the red-haired teacher now standing at Fili’s side, Thorin managed a nod.

“Hello, Thorin,” Miss Silvan said quietly, kneeling down next to him with the first aid kit. “I’m just going to wash these cuts for you.”

Fili moved over to give the teacher more space. “Do you have any medication with you, Uncle?”

Thorin’s hand gingerly moved to his jeans pocket, tapping at the denim. He usually carried a small plastic case containing his anti-anxieties when he was out and about… but the case was gone. His pats became more frantic. The pocket was empty.

“Okay, okay, Uncle,” Fili said, reaching out to still his hand. “We’ve done this without medication before, we can do it again.”

“Are you ready for me to start cleaning your hand, Thorin?”

Miss Silvan’s voice came from his left, making him flinch, but still he managed a nod.

“Right, this might sting a little, but I promise I’ll be as gentle as possible.”

Thorin looked away from his hand, staring into the blue, grey-flecked carpet of Mr. Proudfoot’s office. He winced when Miss Silvan began applying something sharp and cold to his knuckles, but didn’t make a sound. He knew Fili was watching him closely, but he couldn’t bear to look at her.

It was as if everything was being slowly stripped away from him. Dain was gone. His beanie had disappeared, along with his medication; the skin was quite literally peeling from his knuckles… and Bilbo.

He’d almost lost him.

And, really, it felt as if he already had.

A shrill ringing suddenly cut through the hush of the office and Thorin jerked back in his chair.

Mr. Proudfoot, who had been standing as still as stone in the corner of the room, moved to his desk and picked up the phone there.

“Right… Yeah… Yeah… Okay, I’ll pass that on… Thanks, Bell…”

Mr. Proudfoot set the phone back down.

“Your mum’s rung in, Fili: she says your uncle’s doctor is going to ring you on your mobile any second now.”

“‘Bout bloody time!” Fili huffed, pulling her iPhone from her jeans pocket and studying the screen.

Thorin’s heart started up an ominous drumming, sending spikes of pain across his chest, and moments later, Fili’s phone started ringing.

“Hi, Dr. Grey,” Fili said, lifting the phone to her ear. “Yeah… He, er, turned up in main reception, but he can’t remember how he got here… Dain isn’t with him, do you – Oh, okay, great, thank God… No… No… but, like, I’ve never seen him this bad…”

Fili slowly rose to her feet and turned away, lowering her voice, as if to preserve some of Thorin’s dignity and try and pretend she wasn’t acting like he wasn’t right in front of her.

“He’s having chest pains and he’s thrown up… His right hand was covered in blood and he won’t stop shaking… He’s not talking either, he’ll only nod or shake his head and – okay… okay… What do you mean? … What kind of incident?”

Thorin hunched forward, his stomach scrunching itself as the pain in his chest spiked. He knew what was about to happen, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

“Oh… Oh my God…”

Fili’s voice cracked on the last word.

“I… I can’t… Oh my God… and that’s why…”

Fili turned back around, the phone still clutched in her hand, and her blue eyes were already filling with water as she stared at Thorin, the pain twisting her mouth into a grimace. She knew now.

“O-okay… I’ll… I’ll do that… yeah… just hurry, alright…? Okay… th-thanks, Dr. Grey.”

Fili hung up and moved forward, dropping to her knees in front of Thorin.

“Uncle, I am so sorry,” she breathed, the tears beginning to slide down her cheeks, the words barely making their way past a sob. “I am so, so sorry…”

Thorin let out low, wounded sound, leaning forward as the weight of everything that had happened that morning crushed down on him. He was sure this was the end of the world, so why wasn’t the world ending…? Why was he still here and breathing? Where was oblivion?

“Fili, what’s happened?” Mr. Proudfoot asked seriously, brows knitted.

Fili didn’t turn to the teacher, but continued to stare at her uncle, her expression only mirroring his pain as Miss Silvan put a hand on her shoulder.

“I-I’m sorry, Sir,” Fili stammered, reaching up to rub at her eyes. “I can’t… I can’t tell you…”

“Okay,” Mr. Proudfoot replied evenly. “Did the doctor say what we should do?”

Fili’s eyes dropped to the floor. “The hospital is sending an ambulance.”

Thorin let out a moan, clenching his fingers into fists, ignoring the pain that ripped through his knuckles. Fili shuffled forward on her knees and reached for his hands, leaning their foreheads together.

“I’m sorry, Uncle…” she whispered. “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry…”

Fili seemed to have aged a good twenty years and before him now, with her eyes full of pain, she was so much like Dis. And so Thorin finally let himself crumble. The cries started small: rasping, hiccupy sobs, until they grew louder, filling the small, sunlit room.

“Oh, Uncle…”

Fili suddenly got up and came to sit on the soft chair at his side. She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him towards her. Thorin screwed up his eyes, trying to stop the tears, but he couldn’t stop his injured cries. Fili only held him closer, and he could feel her shaking with him.

“I, er, I’m going to go and wait for the ambulance,” Mr. Proudfoot announced, sounding sombre, and Thorin heard the door bang as the teacher left the office.

“Okay, Uncle, listen to me,” Fili said, her voice still breaking. “Dain is at the hospital, and he’s fine… He’s waiting for you…”

Thorin let out a choked sob, his fingers tightening around Fili’s jacket.

“And B –… and Bilbo is going to be fine… okay? He… He’s sleeping at the moment, but he’ll be waiting for you too…”

At the mention of Bilbo’s name, Thorin felt the chasm inside his chest crumble, opening the gaping hole even wider. Bilbo would be waiting for him… but he wouldn’t be the same. How could he be the same after something like this…? This was another horrific moment in Thorin’s life from which there would be no returning. He was now stranded in the desolate time of ‘after’… and he could never go back.

This couldn’t be undone.

The scars couldn’t be lifted from Bilbo’s wrists.

Thorin wasn’t sure how long he and Fili had sat there, clinging to each other in the chaos of ‘after’, when the office door opened again and there were three sets of footsteps crashing through the door. Thorin slowly lifted his head, his whole face feeling sore from crying, and found himself confronted with two green-clad paramedics, with Mr. Proudfoot shuffling in behind them.

“Uncle, the paramedics are here,” Fili said, her voice sounding impossibly small. “Do you want to sit up?”

Thorin reluctantly moved away from Fili, keeping his posture hunched, and eyed the paramedics. The woman, who appeared to be in her early thirties, moved forward, whilst her partner, a lanky twenty-something-year-old with three-day stubble, placed their bags on Mr. Proudfoot’s desk.

“Hello, darlin’,” the woman said gently, coming to kneel in front of Thorin. “My name’s Lillie, and this is Ash… Now you’re looking a bit chilly, so is it alright if we wrap this around you?”

Lillie unfolded a thick, light blue blanket and reached towards him. Thorin flinched back into the chair, but then Fili’s hand was on his shoulder.

“It’s okay, Uncle, it’s just a blanket,” she murmured. “Can I put it round you?”

Thorin stared at the blanket for a few long moments before slowly nodding. Lillie handed the blanket over with a smile and then Fili wrapped it around his shoulders, making sure it covered as much of him as possible.

“Okay, Thorin, we’ve been briefed by Dr. Grey at Ered Luin,” Lillie explained. “And we understand that you’re in quite a bit of pain – can you score it for me on a scale of one to ten?”

Thorin didn’t respond.

“I know you’re not really up to talking at the moment, so can you show me on your fingers?” Lillie pressed, holding up seven fingers to demonstrate.

Thorin continued to stare blankly at the paramedic as Bilbo’s last ‘I love you’ rang in his ears and the pain continued its rampage across his chest. He could put no number to this.

Lillie and Fili exchanged a glance and then Lillie turned to Ash, who was unpacking things on the desk behind her. “Ash, can we get some oxygen, and a few readings please?”

Ash collected his equipment and then came to kneel in front of Thorin, Lillie shifting closer to Fili.

“Alright, mate,” Ash said, with a small smile. “I can see you’re having some trouble breathing, so I’m just going to put this mask on you, to help you out… Is that okay?”

Thorin’s gaze dropped to the oxygen mask in Ash’s hand. He stared at it for a long moment, before nodding. With this permission, Ash carefully lifted the mask and secured it over his nose and mouth, adjusting the green band around his head to keep it in place.

“Okay, Thorin, take some slow, deep breaths for me,” Ash instructed, moving back to give him space.

Thorin’s first breath was short and shaky, but the next was longer, the flow of oxygen slowly beginning to ease the burning in his lungs.

“Doing really well, Uncle,” Fili murmured, one hand rubbing across his back.

Thorin drew in another deep breath, exhaling slowly, fogging up the clear plastic of the mask. Now he could breathe again, he just felt absolutely exhausted… He looked up, and the walls had started to quiver… If he could just sleep, maybe all this would go away… The weariness was seeping into his bones and there were black shadows creeping into his vision… He blinked sluggishly, taking a while to open his eyes again. He inhaled, and as the breath left him the darkness spreading out from the corners of his vision only grew as the walls continued to shudder.

“Hey, Thorin, stay with us,” Lillie said, moving forward. “We need you to stay –”

Thorin never heard the end of the sentence: he slumped against the chair and let the darkness pull him under.

 

…

 

_“Bilbo!”_

Thorin skidded through the ward doors and rushed to Bilbo’s room, but the journey there took too long, as if he was moving under water. Finally reaching the younger man’s doorway, Thorin threw himself inside, eyes desperately searching Bilbo out… but he was nowhere in sight.

_“Bilbo!”_

Thorin felt his lips form Bilbo’s name, but the voice seemed to come from the corner of the empty room. With a frustrated snarl, he staggered back into the ward, watching the nurses move slowly around him, completely ignoring his panic.

_“Bilbo! Where are you?”_

Lurching to his right, Thorin set off running past the nurses’ station and down the dayroom corridor. Patients and nurses and doctors floated past him and as he reached out to detain them, to ask after Bilbo, they simply travelled through his hand like smoke, like ghosts…

Coming to a stop before the entrance to the dayroom, he found himself confronted with a towering grey door, left slightly ajar… and his blood ran cold.

_“Bilbo… Are you in here?”_

A shaking hand reached out and slowly pushed open the door. Thorin stepped inside, and then let out a cry, slamming back into the wall…

_“Thorin… Thorin, love… Open your eyes for me.”_

Thorin’s eyes flew open, only to be assaulted by burning white light, and he squinted against the brightness, coughing as a breath got lodged in his throat.

“Shhh… You’re okay, just breathe…”

A cool hand was gently stroking his forehead and Dis’ face appeared above him, her dark blue eyes shining.

There was a vacant moment, in which Thorin felt nothing at all, in which he could barely remember anything about himself… and then the pain returned, hacking into his chest like an axe, as the reddened image of Bilbo dug its claws into the forefront of his mind. He pulled himself up in the unfamiliar bed and stared down at his left arm in cold horror: there was an IV line snaking out of his hand and a white hospital bracelet around his wrist.

“No!” Thorin snarled, reaching to tug at the clear tube, ripping the oximeter from his right hand and making the monitor cry out with a horrible, shrill beeping.

“Thorin, stop!” Dis commanded, her voice cutting right through him as he was wrestled back into his pillows with unexpected strength. “Please, sweetheart, you’re going to hurt yourself.” Her tone was gentler now, and the hand returned to his forehead.

“I… I don’t want to be here…” Thorin said, his mouth dry and his voice sounding raw and strained, as the monitor continued to shriek in protest.

His heart was knocking at his ribs as the pain in his chest flared up with full force. He couldn’t be back at Ered Luin… He couldn’t have his whole time away erased in one, terrible moment. It was unexpected, but still Bert’s voice sounded in his ears: _“Being readmitted’s a real fucker…”_

“I know,” Dis said soothingly, clasping his hand on the bed.

“Can I come home with you?” Thorin asked, aware that he sounded as if he were five years old again.

A flicker of pain crossed Dis’ features. “No, love, not tonight… Dr. Grey would like you to stay here for a few days, just until… until you feel better.”

Thorin could see the struggle in Dis’ eyes as she tried to find the right words, knowing all too well there were no right words. Not for this.

Poppy suddenly appeared in the doorway and rushed over to the monitor, switching off the piercing beeps.

“Can I pop this back on your finger?” the nurse asked softly, lifting the discarded oximeter from the bed.

Thorin gave a short nod, holding out his right hand, feeling his stomach twist when he noted his knuckles were covered with oddly-shaped beige plasters.

“Okay, can you tell me your full name?” Poppy asked, keeping her tone soft.

This inane question earned a glare, but with a pang, Thorin realised he knew this routine all too well.

“Thorin Oakenshield,” Thorin replied, avoiding Poppy’s assessing gaze.

“And do you know where you are?”

“No.”

Dis sighed. “Thorin…”

“I know I’m in Ered Luin,” Thorin said, ignoring the way his stomach scrunched up as he said it. “But… I don’t recognise the room.”

Dis seemed to relax again. “You’re in one of the short stay rooms, love, just off the dayroom corridor.”

Thorin continued to stare into his lap, hunching his shoulders forward.

“I think Faramir would like to bring Dain in now, if that’s alright with you, Thorin?” Poppy asked, a little hesitantly, watching him for his reaction.

Thorin let out a shuddering breath, his eyes suddenly beginning to sting. “Dain?” he whispered. “He’s here?”

“Yes, and he can’t wait to see you,” Poppy replied warmly.

“Please,” Thorin breathed. “Please let me see him.”

Poppy nodded. “I’ll go and get Faramir.”

The nurse disappeared from the room and Thorin’s eyes returned to Dis: his sister looked pale and tired, but as soon as she felt her brother’s gaze, she managed a small smile.

“Is Fili alright?” Thorin asked carefully, after a tense pause, as incomplete, stilted memories of Mr. Proudfoot’s office flickered in a dark corner of his mind.

Something Thorin couldn’t place flashed in Dis’ eyes, but still she answered: “She’s very worried about you, but she’s fine… She’s just having a coffee with Radagast at the moment.”

Thorin was just thinking how torturous that must be when it occurred to him that there might be a reason Fili was talking to Radagast, but before he had time to chase this train of thought, he heard scratching out in the corridor, and then Faramir and Dain appeared in the room.

As soon as he saw Thorin, Dain let out a yelp and lurched forward, straining on his lead. The Labrador continued to whine as they moved into the room and he was instantly at Thorin’s side, jumping up and putting his paws on the bed as he panted with excitement.

“Alright, alright, up you get, Mister,” Faramir sighed, lifting the Labrador onto Thorin’s bed.

Dain immediately clambered into Thorin’s lap and started licking his face in earnest, as if he thought he’d never see him again. Thorin wrapped his arms around him and pushed his nose into his neck.

“I’m sorry I left you behind,” Thorin mumbled, screwing up his eyes, feeling the tears burning behind his lids.

Dain only proceeded to push his face into Thorin’s neck, nudging at his collar bone, offering his forgiveness.

“Is… is he okay?” Thorin asked quietly, lifting his face from Dain’s fur to look at Faramir.

“He was very worried about you,” Faramir replied, his expression neutral. “But we got Florence in to look after him: she really lives up to her name does Florence… She took care of Myrtle when James… Well, anyway, she snuggled up with Dain and kept him calm, and I’m sure he’ll be just fine now.”

Thorin’s stomach tightened at the mention of the golden retriever: it meant Graham was at the hospital… Did he know what had happened? Did everyone know?

“Good evening, Thorin.”

Thorin’s head turned sharply to the left. Dr. Grey was standing in the doorway, his expression unfathomable, and, curiously, he had his black leather brief case clutched in his hand.

“Dis, why don’t you go and join Fili and Radagast? Get yourself a coffee?” the doctor suggested kindly, putting a hand on Dis’ shoulder.

Dis’ eyes moved to Thorin, but as tactful as Dr. Grey was being, she knew she was being asked to leave.

“I’ll be back soon, love,” Dis said, moving to Thorin’s side and pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead.

Thorin didn’t reply, only tightened his arms around Dain as Dis left room, with Faramir following silently behind her. Dr. Grey went and took a seat at the other side of the bed, closest to the window, and set his briefcase down on the floor, folding his hands in his lap.

“How are you feeling, Thorin?” the doctor asked, peering at him with a strange look in his pale blue eyes.

“What the hell kind of question is that?” Thorin growled, pushing his fingers into Dain’s fur, glaring at the doctor as his chest contracted.

“It is a simple one, and I would like an honest answer,” Dr. Grey replied.

“My chest hurts,” Thorin muttered, looking away from the doctor. “I’m tired… and my head hurts too… and my hand… and my knee.”

“Understood,” Dr. Grey said calmly. “And how do you feel about what happened this morning?”

Thorin gritted his teeth. “You mean how do I feel about my boyfriend trying to fucking kill himself?” He shrank back at the harshness of his own words, regretting them instantly as the chasm in his chest was wrenched wider.

“Yes,” Dr. Grey answered simply.

“Angry,” Thorin replied, his jaw still clenched. “Upset… Useless…” _Guilty._ “Like… like I just want this fucking pain in my chest to… to just _stop_.”

Dr. Grey shifted on the chair. “Thorin, I must ask you this now, and I need another honest answer: do you currently have any plans to end your own life?”

Thorin froze, his eyes widening. “What?”

He had been asked this question before, several times when he first came to Ered Luin, but he couldn’t quite believe he was being faced with it again. The anger bubbled up in his stomach, making his insides burn.

“Do you currently have any plans to end your own life?” Dr. Grey repeated.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Thorin snarled. “Of course not! But why weren’t you asking Bilbo that fucking question? That’s your job, isn’t it?!”

Dr. Grey stared at Thorin, his lips pursed, and suddenly it felt like he had been doused with cold water. _They had been asking Bilbo that question._

And he hadn’t realised.

_“… I love you.”_

He’d left Bilbo alone.

“Can I see him?” Thorin whispered, the anger slowly subsiding, the pain rushing in to take its place once again. “Please?”

“Bilbo will need to spend another day or so in acute care,” Dr. Grey replied slowly. “And I would like to give you both some time to process the day’s events before you see each other.”

“You… you can’t stop me seeing him,” Thorin said, tightening his grip on Dain, panic stirring inside his chest.

“I don’t intend to, Thorin,” Dr. Grey answered. “However, there are a few questions I believe you would like answers to, and I do not think it would be wise to let you see Bilbo before you have had time to work through your feelings regarding these answers.”

Thorin glared at the doctor, cursing him for talking in riddles. “You know something,” he said, tone more than accusing.

Dr. Grey reached down and clipped open his briefcase. Thorin’s heart jolted painfully when he produced Bilbo’s red leather journal.

“All your questions, I believe you will find the answers in the last few pages,” Dr. Grey said, holding the journal out to Thorin.

Thorin stared at the journal, and he felt as if he was about to throw up. The doctor may talk in riddles, but this one he understood. “I… I’m not reading Bilbo’s suicide note,” he stated, voice cracking.

“It is addressed to you, and it explains everything quite clearly,” Dr. Grey said steadily. “Bilbo has asked me to give it to you.”

Thorin’s heart gave a horrible twinge. He pictured Bilbo lying in a bed in acute care, his face white and his wrists wrapped in bandages.

“Have you read it?” Thorin asked, a clear edge in his voice.

“I have, yes.”

“So you can answer my questions then?”

“I would prefer it if –”

“I’m not reading it!” Thorin snapped, teeth bared. His anger was only there as an almost transparent front for the pain… Couldn’t Dr. Grey understand that his heart couldn’t take it? That he couldn’t bear to read Bilbo’s finals words to him before he tried to end his own life?

“Very well,” Dr. Grey murmured. “I will answer your questions as best I can.”

Thorin pulled Dain closer to his chest and the Labrador nuzzled at his shoulder. “How long?” He hoped he wouldn’t have to elaborate: he wasn’t sure he could get the words out.

Dr. Grey shifted in the chair again, steepling his long fingers. “Bilbo decided to wait until he felt you were far enough along with your reintegration to cope with his death, and so he bided his time, as it were, until he was sure you were happy and could live without him.”

_“And what about you? … Are you happy?”_

Thorin’s heart gave an awful jolt. He had told Bilbo he was happy… but he hadn’t told him just how much of that happiness was dependent upon him. The pain ploughed on through the caverns in his chest… How could Bilbo think he could ever live without him?

“It also appears that Bilbo was waiting to hear the outcome of Fili’s university application, as this would also ensure you and your family’s happiness after his death.”

Thorin closed his eyes, keeping the cry trapped behind his lips. “How… how could he think I’d be happy if… if he died?”

“You and Bilbo have both discussed the idea of removing obstacles, with each other, and in your sessions with myself… It is clear from Bilbo’s last thoughts that he believes himself to be an obstacle to your progress, and therefore one that needs to be removed.”

The guilt rose inside Thorin in a titanic wave. It was his fault. Maybe if Bilbo had never met him, this would never have happened…

Dr. Grey was watching him closely now, clearly tracking his train of thought. “Bilbo has wanted to die for a very long time, Thorin,” he said cautiously. “You are not the reason for this attempt; in fact, I am sure you stalled it for a considerable amount of time.”

“How the fuck is that any better?” Thorin barked, his fingers closing into fists. “And what do you mean a long time? How long has he been planning this attempt? Since I was discharged?”

“No, unfortunately I have reason to believe it was earlier than that.”

“What…?” Thorin said, one eyebrow raised. “What reason?”

Dr. Grey took an agonisingly long time to answer, clearly weighing his words carefully, but finally he spoke again: “Bilbo attempted to take his own life by using a pair of surgical scissors. It has come to light that the young porter Bilbo paid to provide him with the things needed for your escape to the coffee shop gave him two pairs of scissors. An unfortunate case of misinterpreted syntax meant we believed we were only looking for one pair when the young man was dismissed.”

“Since… Since the coffee shop…?”

Thorin felt all the air get knocked from his lungs. Since their first date, all those months ago, Bilbo had been planning to kill himself. Everything they had done together since, every moment they had shared, the intention had been there in Bilbo’s mind… and suddenly Thorin realised what he thought was a grand gesture, one of the reasons he had fallen in love with Bilbo in the first place, had had an ulterior motive all along. Bilbo had used him as an excuse to get hold of the scissors.

_“Haldir thinks I’m manipulative.”_

Bilbo’s words echoed around Thorin’s mind… and hadn’t there been some truth in the junior doctor’s perception of Bilbo?

“Bilbo has made fools of us all,” Dr. Grey said solemnly. “I too believed we were getting somewhere in our sessions.”

“But… But he was making some progress,” Thorin insisted, turning to blind denial in one last, desperate attempt to stave off his pain. “He… He had his sessions with Dr. Cox; he made that decision on his own.”

Dr. Grey’s lips formed a thin line. “Bilbo told you he was having sessions with Dr. Cox?”

“Of course, he just didn’t really want to talk about them… He, er, he was embarrassed… He asked me not to tell anyone because –” Thorin stopped, the realisation sending a greater ache thrumming through his chest. “He lied to me… He wasn’t really having sessions with Dr. Cox?”

Dr. Grey slowly shook his head.

“He… He’s been lying about everything… How am I supposed to trust him again?” Thorin demanded, his voice rising. “How am I supposed to believe anything he says?” The black thoughts continued to latch onto every corner of his mind, becoming more and more irrational, one hideous doubt only breeding another, until:  “Did… did he ever love me?”

Dr. Grey’s expression suddenly darkened, and Thorin thought he saw the beginnings of anger stir up in the usually placid water of his blue gaze. “Thorin, Bilbo loves you more than his own life, you can be sure of that,” he said, with a foreign flint in his voice, and it made Thorin flinch.

He leant back in his pillows, watching silently as the doctor returned Bilbo’s red journal to his briefcase.

“Now I am going to give you some time to sort through everything we have discussed,” Dr. Grey said, his voice once again calm, almost gentle. “Speak with Dis and Fili, make sure you eat something substantial, get some rest, and you may visit Bilbo tomorrow morning.”

Thorin didn’t have time to think of a suitable response before Dr. Grey rose from his chair with a “Good night, Thorin,” and disappeared swiftly from the room. He stared after the doctor for a long time, left alone with only Dain and an excruciating ache for company.

It was then that Thorin finally realised the meaning behind the crushing pain in his chest: he had said he would try not to, but still Bilbo Baggins had well and truly broken his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive me.


	35. Chapter 35

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Love of my life, you've hurt me.  
> You've broken my heart and now you leave me.  
> Love of my life, can't you see?  
> Bring it back, bring it back,  
> don't take it away from me  
> because you don't know what it means to me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *rushes to shelves to grab chocolate and biscuits and tea* *realises I’ve exhausted my stores with the past three chapters* *hurries off to Sainsbury’s to stock up again*
> 
> Warning: This chapter features a nightmare which includes some brief descriptions of Bilbo’s suicide attempt. The nightmare appears after the first section break. The third section also includes a panic attack with descriptions of vomiting. If anyone would like a trigger-free summary, please do let me know!

Thorin stared at the white, featureless alcove opposite his bed. This room was smaller than the one he had occupied during his first stay at Ered Luin, and the walls seemed to be looming over him, leaning in closer, trying to hear his thoughts.

If only he couldn’t hear his own thoughts. There was a crowd of voices, whispering from the darker corners of his mind, entreating him to realise that in the space of a few ghastly hours he had regressed back to the very beginning… His mind and his body had betrayed him, had brought about this return to the hospital, and now it was as if he had been cast back to the very start. The bare, poster-less walls spoke of a time before even Fili had reappeared in his life, and he was left so completely and unbearably alone.

But there was a worse fear slowly spreading out from the shadows: an old fear he had thought long-conquered. There was a time when he was terrified of being trapped in Ered Luin without Bilbo, without his centre of gravity… and now here he was. Lost and wandering in the dark, and Thorin wondered if this was a cycle doomed to repeat itself: no matter how many steps he took, he would always find himself back in a white room, having to start all over again.

Yes, his mind and his body had betrayed him… but this was a betrayal he had already experienced, many times. Being betrayed by Bilbo, however, was a new and monstrous agony.

There was a chasm slowly expanding inside his chest, somewhere close to where his heart used to be, and he instinctively drew Dain closer to him, wrapping his arms around the Labrador and hugging him to where he felt the pain.

Bilbo had lied to him. For the entirety of their relationship, that pair of scissors had been a spike wedged at the back of his mind. Thorin found that he was having to re-evaluate everything they had been through together: all the memories of their shared moments were now distorted as they appeared, as if through warped glass, before his eyes.

When Bilbo had kissed him for the first time, he had already been planning how their time together would end. And the first time they had been properly intimate, with Bilbo curled at his side, kissing his shoulder… the scissors had been hidden somewhere in his room. With a terrible, sickly jolt, it dawned on Thorin that the last time Bilbo had pulled him behind his door for a few stolen moments, this had very probably been planned weeks in advance… it was just another way to say ‘goodbye’.

Sitting on the bed, feeling almost deafened by these black thoughts, Thorin finally had the revelation that he couldn’t untangle the truth from the lies in his and Bilbo’s relationship… and therefore, really, he didn’t know Bilbo at all. Bilbo was a stranger to him.

This revelation sent another bolt of pain down from his chest into his stomach, making Thorin curl into himself, and he hissed in a breath as a horrible burning sensation erupted in his knee. Urging Dain to move from his lap and sit beside him, Thorin gingerly drew back the bed sheets. He was wearing a pair of his own pyjamas – Dis must have brought them from home – and he slowly leaned down and pulled up the soft, cotton leg of the pyjama bottoms.

He sucked in a sharp breath as his left knee twinged again, and he found himself looking at a muddy red graze, the vicious, cross-hatched lines spreading out over his knee-cap. He must have fallen down on his way to Fili’s school… but he had no memory of it. His eyes flickered to the plasters covering his raw knuckles. He had a feeling he knew how he injured his hand, but he couldn’t remember doing that either. It was as if his mind, in one last desperate attempt to protect him from the pain, had wiped out those first agonising hours. It came as no surprise to Thorin that his mind had once again failed to defend him against reality.

Familiar voices sounded out in the corridor.

Thorin winced as he drew down his pyjama leg, and turned in time to see Dis step into the room, with Fili shuffling in behind her. A change had come over his niece. Her blonde hair was no longer tied up in its usual lackadaisical fashion, but hung limply over her shoulders, and her pale face appeared to have been recently scrubbed clean of make-up.

Dis moved around to the other side of the bed, leaving Thorin and Fili to stare at each other for one long moment, their blue eyes full of a hauntingly similar pain… and then Fili stumbled forward and pulled her uncle into a hug. Thorin was expecting it and he wrapped his arms around her as she sniffled into his shoulder, fingers closing over his pyjama top.  

Fili had acted way beyond her years today, but now everything appeared to have caught up with her, and she was, once again, only seventeen and scared. Thorin had no idea what to say, and the pain in his chest formed a repetitive, harrowing backdrop to the scene, but somehow he found himself holding Fili closer and, though his eyes were beginning to burn, he managed a murmured: ‘Thank you’.

Fili only hiccupped in response, but then slowly drew away, her eyes shining. Thorin looked at her carefully, trying to ignore the spike of pain in his stomach.

“Are you okay?” he asked quietly.

It was a question usually forbidden within the walls of the hospital, but in a daze Thorin found himself reverting to those cue cards you’re taught from childhood: if someone is upset, you ask them if they are alright, even though you already know the answer.

Fili followed the routine perfectly, reaching up to wipe her eyes. “I’m fine,” she replied, with a small, teary smile, before taking a seat at the side of the bed.

There was a tense, cloying silence, broken only by Dain’s gentle snuffling against Thorin’s leg, as the three of them sat there, all trying to navigate the after-chaos, as a thick, invisible dust settled around them. And the moment seemed to go on forever.

“Would you like us to bring you anything from home, love?” Dis asked, finally seeming to find the will to speak.

Thorin stared into his lap, his mind beginning to catalogue his limited number of possessions, but it was very much a minefield. Any books he might have wanted were either borrowed from Bilbo or had been read in the younger man’s presence. All his photographs and the gifts from Fili, even the blue, woollen blanket, reminded him of his first stay in the hospital, of when he trusted Bilbo more than he trusted himself. Everything in his life seemed to be irrevocably connected to him… leaving Thorin with nothing to call his own.

“I’ve put your clothes for the next few days in your drawers,” Dis continued, when her brother didn’t respond. “But if there’s anything else…?”

“I don’t mind picking you up some things from town tomorrow morning,” Fili put in, sitting up a little straighter in her chair.

“Won’t you be at school tomorrow?” Thorin asked, confused.

Fili’s expression remained neutral. “This is more important.”

“Fili…” Dis warned, and there was more than a hint of exasperation in her voice.

Fili turned on her mother in a flash. “If you can take compassionate leave, I can miss a couple of hours of Mr. Greenwood being a sanctimonious prick!”

As soon as this last, venomous expletive left her mouth, Fili’s eyes widened, and she clearly regretted her words.

Thorin’s gaze slowly moved to Dis, his chest only tightening. “You’ve taken compassionate leave?” he whispered.

Dis shifted on her chair, and Thorin didn’t miss the look of animosity she exchanged with her daughter. “Yes, but only for a few days... Although I'm sure my Year 11s will be delighted to have a break from me barking at them about their coursework deadlines.” She attempted a smile, despite already knowing her light-hearted tone had fallen flat.

Thorin wanted to protest, but he knew there was little point: Dis had made her decision. The tense silence flooded back into the room, and Thorin watched his sister and his niece pointedly looking away from each other. It seemed he wasn’t the only one who had regressed, and the cavern in his chest seemed to expand a little further out.

“Does Kili know?” Thorin asked, when he could no longer bear the silence.

“No,” Dis answered honestly, her lips pursed. “I… don’t think he would take this very well. I’m not sure he’d be able to… Well, anyway, I’ve told him that…” Her hesitation was a knife in Thorin’s chest. “That Bilbo is very poorly, which has upset you, and that’s why you’re staying at the hospital for a few days, just until you feel better.”

Thorin felt his throat begin to close up. God, if only things were that simple. “He’ll figure out the truth,” he said hoarsely, remembering just how observant his nephew really was.

Dis dipped her chin. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.” Before the poisonous silence could return, she added: “Dwalin and Balin are driving down from Edinburgh tomorrow morning.”

“You told them?” Thorin’s stomach twisted again: his pain was literally being broadcasted across borders.

“Of course I did,” Dis replied firmly. “They love you, Thorin, as we all do… and we won’t let you go through this on your own.”

Thorin swallowed, gaze returning to his lap as his uninjured hand sought out the thick, soft fur of Dain’s neck. He knew he should feel better, now that he was going to be surrounded by his family, but really this news didn’t even touch the agonising ache… and he felt just as he did before Dis and Fili entered the room: lost, and completely and utterly alone.

 

…

 

“Go.”

The word came from Bilbo with such authority that Thorin found himself moving forward automatically. With Bilbo in front, Thorin followed him as they darted across the ward, rushing past the nurses’ station and several patients’ empty rooms until they reached the side-door that opened onto the stairs only used by staff. In a flash, Bilbo had produced a card as if from thin air and pressed it against the lock. With a soft beep, the door swung open and then they were galloping down the stairs two at a time.

“We need to be quick, CCTV will have caught that,” Bilbo said, sounding breathless but full of energy.

Thorin nodded, though he knew Bilbo couldn’t see it. The adrenaline rush was immense as he pounded down the third flight of stairs. He had forgotten what it was like to feel exhilarated, to even move this fast, and he suddenly realised he couldn’t stop smiling.

Reaching the ground floor, Bilbo turned into a stairwell and gestured for Thorin to join him. Coming to a stop, Thorin felt his muscles begin to flare up in protest to his quick movements and an ache started creeping up his calves, but he ignored it. He drew in a deep, shuddering breath to try and stop himself from wheezing.

“This is a camera blind-spot,” Bilbo explained, as he began rooting through what looked like black bin bags that were piled against the wall. “Ah.” He pulled open a bag. “I paid the new porter to stash some things for us… It’s amazing what teenagers will do for money.”

Thorin couldn’t help it: he smirked.

“I could have phrased that better,” Bilbo said, with an endearing groan.

Thorin was trying to figure out where Bilbo had found the money to pay the amenable porter when the younger man suddenly shrugged off his grey hoodie and pushed his long pyjama sleeves up to his elbows. He then produced a pair of surgical scissors from the bin bag.

Thorin’s blood ran cold.

“What… what are those for?” he whispered, his throat tightening as if there were fingers at his windpipe. He could feel sweat beginning to bead on his brow.

“For you,” Bilbo replied simply, and there was a horrible, vacant look in his grey eyes.

“Bilbo,” Thorin said, feeling his fingers trembling. “Bilbo… put those down… please…”

But Bilbo didn’t listen. He swung open the glinting, silver blades like flicking open a pocket knife.

“Bilbo…” Thorin said weakly, blinking as his vision grew blurry. “Don’t…”

Bilbo slowly lifted the pointed tip to his exposed right wrist. “I love you.”

“No!”

Pain exploded in Thorin’s chest and he tried to lurch forward, teeth gritted, but he couldn’t move… He couldn’t move! His feet were cemented to the spot and his arms hung lifelessly at his sides.

“Bilbo! STOP!”

A thick, dark red line slowly appeared, trailing behind the silver blade of the scissors.

“BILBO! STOP IT!”

Blood began to trickle between Bilbo’s fingers.

“BILBO!”

_“Thorin, Thorin, wake up… Thorin…”_

Thorin lunged forward, pawing blindly at the darkness, his hands smacking into the person leaning over him, as the dream decomposed before his eyes, leaving him choking on his own breaths in the blank room. He could feel a cold sweat sticking his pyjama top to his chest and he hunched forward, struggling to inhale a breath into his shivering lungs.

“Okay, Thorin, just take deep breaths for me…”

Thorin started as a warm hand touched his shoulder and he looked up to find an unfamiliar nurse standing at his side.

“It’s alright, you’re safe, it was just a dream,” the nurse soothed, but her words jolted the chilling reality of the nightmare back into the forefront of Thorin’s mind. His hands shot out, grabbing hold of her scrubs.

“Bilbo,” he choked out, feeling dizzy. “He’ll try again… Please, you have to stop him…”

“Okay, okay,” the nurse replied gently, her hands closing over Thorin’s and getting him to slowly relinquish his grip on her scrubs. She guided him to lie back down against his pillows. “Thorin, listen to me… Bilbo is under twenty-four hour observation and he’s being well looked-after. Acute care checked in with us about twenty minutes ago: Bilbo is stable and sleeping.”

Thorin finally let out a breath, his throat feeling scratchy and sore. The pain was a dull thud in his chest, which was shuddering as his lungs struggled to suck in more air. Bilbo was stable and sleeping: his mind repeated the words as his breathing evened out. In the morning, he would be going down to acute care to visit him… and he had absolutely no idea what was going to happen. The dull thuds became sharp thumps. He watched the nurse as she straightened out his blankets that had become tangled during his nightmare.

“Can I speak to Rosie?” Thorin murmured, now clutching at straws for comfort. Dain wasn’t allowed to stay on the ward overnight, and he needed to find a substitute. He didn’t remember seeing the curly-haired nurse on the ward yesterday, and so he hoped she might be working the night shift.

The nurse stopped fussing with Thorin’s blankets and straightened up. “I’m sorry, Thorin, Rosie isn’t working tonight… But if you’d like to speak to someone, I can page Dr. Grey?”

There was an odd note in her voice as she spoke, and Thorin’s brow furrowed. “Is… Rosie alright?”

“Of course, she’s fine, it’s just her couple of days off,” the nurse replied, with a strained smile. “She’ll be back in on Monday.”

Thorin narrowed his eyes. “You’re lying,” he stated, with a definite edge.

The nurse’s shoulders sagged and Thorin could see her weighing up her response. “What’s happened… it’s, er, it’s hit us all hard,” she said, trying to keep her voice even. “You know Rosie has worked closely with Bilbo the whole time he’s been with us and then she was…”

The nurse stopped, fearing she had said too much, but Thorin was still able to fill in the blanks, and he felt his stomach scrunch in on itself.

“She was the one who found him?” Thorin said, his eyes beginning to burn at the corners.

“Yes,” came the nurse’s whispered answer, and she regarded Thorin with a pained smile, the kind that suggests a person is trying to stop themselves from breaking. “Can I get you anything?” she asked, seeming to recover herself.

Thorin shook his head, pulling his blankets back up to his chin, drawing in a deep breath.

“Okay, well it won’t be light again for a few hours, so try and get some sleep,” the nurse said softly. “And make sure you use your call button if you need anything.”

Thorin nodded. “Thank you.”

And with that, the nurse departed, leaving Thorin alone in the darkness.

 

…

 

The lift doors slid closed with a beep and a shudder.

_Lift going down…_

Thorin stared stoically ahead, trying to ignore Poppy’s watchful gaze. Dain was standing vigilantly at his side, also watching his partner, and Thorin couldn’t help but feel he was being thrust into some horrible performance… a performance for which he had barely rehearsed.

He hadn’t managed to get back to sleep after his nightmare and his waking thoughts had been plagued with glittering blades and bloody trails slipping between fingers. Breakfast had been a dismal affair, with Poppy’s gentle encouragements only succeeding in getting him to stomach a few mouthfuls of tasteless porridge. And now Thorin just felt sick.

He didn’t know what to say to Bilbo. He had spent the early hours of the morning going over and over everything in his head… but he only ended up despairing and angry, and he still didn’t have his lines for the scene they were about to play out.

_Level Two…_

“Thorin, this is us,” Poppy prompted, as the lift doors opened.

Thorin clenched his jaw, stepping out onto the bleak corridor behind the nurse. There was a stronger smell of disinfectant on this level, and it was making him feel nauseous.

“Okay?” Poppy was looking up at him, her gaze sympathetic but with a hint of scrutiny.

Thorin managed a stiff nod. Poppy set off at a steady pace down the corridor and Thorin followed, eyeing the double-doors at the other end, knowing he would find Bilbo behind them. He tried to form words, string together sentences, in his mind, but still they wouldn’t come… nothing could prepare him for this.

It was with a sickening jolt that Thorin realised Bilbo probably _would_ have something prepared. Yes, he’d have an entire speech, ready to recite, to win Thorin over and persuade him to offer his forgiveness… because Bilbo had been nothing but an actor for the entire time they had known each other. Thorin had seen him slip his mask on and off, and the mask would most certainly be on for this reunion. The anger stirred in the pit of his stomach like a terrible titan.

“Oh, Thorin, we have to be buzzed through,” Poppy explained, and Thorin realised he had put his hand out to push through the doors in front of them.

Thorin slowly dropped his hand to his side, taking one step back.

Poppy pressed the call button on the silver panel by the door. “Hello, this is Nurse Hayward and Thorin to see Bilbo Baggins?”

There was a sharp bleep and Thorin heard the door click open. Poppy held it open for him and he shuffled onto the ward.

It was much quieter than their ward. There was no sense of busyness, no phones ringing… just the gentle beeps and hisses of machines with everyone talking in murmured voices. It immediately set Thorin on edge.

They arrived at the nurses’ station and were greeted by an elderly nurse in dark green scrubs. “He’s in Bay 10, just down there,” she explained, indicating a set of glass-fronted rooms behind her.

“Thank you,” Poppy smiled, her eyes moved to Thorin and the scrutiny was back. “Okay, Thorin?”

Thorin was very far from being okay. The pain in his chest had been steadily growing since they left their ward and now it was nearing a crescendo. His stomach was manically knotting and unknotting itself and his vision had taken on wavering edges at the corners.

Still he managed to move forward, heading in the direction of Bay 10. Poppy fell into step at his side, Dain following dutifully at the other. As they neared the room, the pain only spiked sending Thorin’s head spinning… they drew closer and closer, passing the large glass windows of the other bays. Thorin sucked in a shaking breath and held it…

… and found himself face to face with Bilbo.

The younger man was sitting up in bed, staring at Thorin through the window, and his face was almost completely white, his eyes dull and grey. Their gazes locked for a fraction of a second, and then Thorin was rearing away from the glass, staggering back against a wall, hiding himself from view.

“I… I can’t…!” he cried out, feeling as if he was being strangled, and the pain in his chest was almost unbearable. Dain was instantly at his side, paws scratching at his knees, licking at his trembling fingers, but he couldn’t respond, couldn’t move at all…

“Thorin.” Poppy approached him, her stance wary, hand reaching for his shoulder.

“I… I can’t… do it…” Thorin choked out, feeling his stomach heave.

And that was when a familiar cry cut through the air.

“Thorin!”

Bilbo was calling out for him, his voice filled with pain, and Thorin couldn’t take it.

“Thorin, I’m sorry!”

Thorin’s hands fumbled over his ears, palms pressing down, trying to block out the sounds, and he screwed up his eyes against the tears.

“THORIN!”

Bilbo’s terrifying wail was another knife in his chest, and Thorin was sure he wouldn’t survive the pain. “Please… make him stop… just make him stop…” he begged, still clutching his hands to his head.

“Okay, Thorin, let’s get you out of here,” Poppy whispered urgently.

Suddenly the nurse’s arms were around him and he was being bundled back past the nurse’s station. Thorin’s whole body felt stone-heavy, but even though he stumbled, Poppy still managed to keep him upright and carry him through the doors, out into the main corridor. As the doors clicked shut behind them, Bilbo’s cries vanished, and Thorin gasped for air, as if breaking the surface of the water he had been drowning in. He staggered around blindly, barely able to see through his tears, and then Poppy was guiding him to sit down on the floor.

Thorin collapsed onto the cold linoleum, his injured knee stinging in protest, and he leant back against the wall, still panting as the pain in his chest took over.

“Okay, Thorin, I’m right here, and Dain is here… Just focus on your breathing,” Poppy coached, her fingers finding Thorin’s wrist as Dain tried to climb into his lap.

Thorin shifted against the wall to try and accommodate the Labrador, and all of a sudden his stomach heaved again. Lurching to the side and knocking Dain away, Thorin threw up the entire contents of his stomach onto the grey floor.

“Can I get some help out here please!”

Thorin was still staring down at the colourless mess in front of him as Poppy’s hands came to rest on his shoulders and gently pulled him away. The next few minutes passed in a blur as he was moved further down the wall and wrapped in a blanket. Someone wiped his mouth and pressed a glass of water into his hands, and then Dain was snuggling into his chest.

“I… I couldn’t do it,” Thorin mumbled miserably, when he found the strength to speak again. He closed his eyes, feeling utterly drained.

“You weren’t ready today,” Poppy murmured, from somewhere to his right. “And that’s okay; you just need some more time.”

Thorin exhaled a shaky breath. So it seemed Poppy believed the old proverb that time heals all wounds. He sat there, simply letting the pain continue its rampage across his chest, and tried to contain his sob… he wasn’t sure what time could do with this wound. Unlike the bullet, this wound would probably kill him in the end.

 

…

 

Thorin had been watching the clock opposite his bed for a good forty-five minutes when voices he recognised finally sounded out in the corridor. His posture stiffened, rousing Dain from his dosing, and the Labrador blinked sleepily up at him.

Dis appeared first, Dwalin coming in behind her, but that was it, no one else entered the room. Thorin peered behind his cousin at the empty doorway, a crease worrying his brow.

“Hello, love,” Dis said softly, squeezing his shoulder and pressing a kiss to his forehead.

Thorin didn’t react, but stared past her at Dwalin, who was quickly trying to rearrange his ‘Christ, You Look Like Shit’ expression into something more neutral. He knew they must have both been told about his ill-fated visit to acute care that morning, and that would explain the uncomfortable air in the room as Dis and Dwalin took their seats at either side of his bed.

“Poppy explained that you haven’t been able to manage any lunch,” Dis said gently. “Would you like me to get you something from the café?”

Certain that his sister already knew the answer to that question, Thorin elected to ignore it. “Where are Balin and Fili?” he asked, feeling his stomach clench.

Thorin didn’t miss the flicker in Dis’ eyes. “They’ll be along for the later visiting hours… Fili has taken Balin to the Oriental Museum where she works, just so they can both get some fresh air.”

“And because my brother can’t stand to be in the same room as me at the moment.”

Thorin turned to Dwalin, following the direction of Dis’ glare. “What?”

Dwalin was undeterred by Dis’ black look. “Balin and I are having a bit of a disagreement at the moment…”

“Dwalin,” Dis warned, her tone sharp.

Dwalin ignored her. “You see, I think your boyfriend’s a selfish bastard, but Balin thinks I should have a little more _empathy_.”

The pain in Thorin’s chest wrapped its barbed fingers around his ribs and his stomach squirmed. “You… you think Bilbo’s selfish?” he asked quietly.

“Damn right, I do,” Dwalin growled. “I mean, look at what he’s done to you…” This was accompanied with a gesture in Thorin’s direction. “And he’s put your niece in therapy.”

Thorin froze.

“Dwalin!” Dis snapped.

“Oh, Dis, if you wanted him babied you should’ve told me not to come,” Dwalin retorted, black brows knitted.

“There’s a difference between babying him and making sure you don’t trigger _another_ panic attack!” came Dis’ shrill reply.

“Would you both stop acting like I’m not sitting right here!”

Thorin’s gruff voice rose above the squabbling, silencing Dis and Dwalin in an instant. He reached up to rub at his heaving chest, trying to quell some of the burn.

“Sweetheart, I’m sorry,” she whispered, sounding contrite as she took his free hand. “You’re right… I shouldn’t have said that.”

Thorin looked across at Dwalin from the corner of his eye. “Why is Fili in therapy?” he asked, his voice coming out strained.

“She’s not,” Dis put in, before Dwalin could reply. “She’s just getting some support from Radagast at the moment… The ward offer it to the relatives of all their patients, it’s nothing for you to worry about.”

“So you’re not going to mention the fact that we caught her on the phone to the Birmingham admissions office this morning?”

Dis let out a definite growl, staring across the bed at Dwalin with a look that could’ve killed him ten times over.

“What… what was she doing?” Thorin murmured, swallowing thickly.

“She was trying to withdraw her offer,” Dwalin replied steadily. “I had to pry the phone out of her hands.”

“Right, I’m going to get you a sandwich!” Dis was suddenly on her feet, and the two men watched in shock as she stormed out of the room.

Thorin’s eyes slowly moved back to Dwalin, who was studying him with a barely-concealed grimace. “Looks like I’m pissin’ a lot of people off at the moment.”

At first Thorin was surprised that Dis had left him alone with Dwalin if she was so worried about him triggering an attack, but then he realised she probably did trust their cousin to look after him, she just couldn’t cope with Dwalin’s way of doing things, of being around this necessary straight talk.

“You… did stop Fili?” Thorin asked, after a long moment of silence. “She hasn’t withdrawn her offer?”

“Yeah, we sorted it out,” Dwalin answered, with a sigh. “Ach, she’ll be alright… She’s a tough lassie, just like her mother… too much like her mother, in fact.”

Thorin wished he could smile at that, but he couldn’t quite manage it.

The two of them sat in silence for a long time, and then Dwalin spoke again, his voice softer than before: “Your chap didn’t realise what this would do to you, did he? What it’d do to everyone…? I mean, we were speaking to the brothers of that wee lad, the one who’s been pally with Bilbo for ages… and you know he hasn’t said one word since it happened?”

Thorin drew in a quivering breath. “Ori…?” he whispered. “He… He isn’t speaking?”

Dwalin shook his head. “No one can get a peep out of him… Even that old chap in the dressing gown, the one who…” Dwalin’s hand gestures imitated crude Sign Language. “Both of them suffering together apparently, won’t leave each other’s sides.”

Thorin dug his fingers into Dain’s fur and screwed up his eyes, trying to stop the tears that were threatening to fill them. So Ori and Bifur were struggling too. Of course they were, they were Bilbo’s friends. The anger stirred once again in the depths of Thorin’s stomach… Dwalin was right, and maybe that’s why Dis had left: because she knew.

Bilbo had thought he was removing an obstacle, but instead he had created nothing but chaos. His actions were ripping Thorin’s family apart, just as they were ripping Thorin himself apart. And Thorin was left sitting in the midst of the destruction, knowing there was nothing he could do to stop it.

 

…

 

Thorin jolted awake, inhaling sharply. He was curled on his side on the bed, his blankets twisted around him, and there was sun streaming through the closed blinds of his window. Yesterday had been beyond exhausting, and he had barely slept last night, waking after an hour or so of uneasy dreams only to discover that Bilbo had been transferred back up onto the ward.

Knowing that Bilbo had been returned to his old room, that he was only a short walk away down the corridor, was almost too much for Thorin. He had told the nurses very bluntly that he didn’t want to see him, and they had let the subject alone. Worn out by so much emotional pain, Thorin must have managed to drop off around lunch-time. Rubbing at his eyes and glancing over at his clock, his chest tightened… Fili should have arrived for visiting hours over forty minutes ago.

Dragging himself up in the bed, Thorin kicked off his blankets. Dain was going through some extra training with Faramir, so he was alone in the small, white room. He rubbed a hand across his beard and tried to draw in a deep breath. Fili was probably talking with one of the nurses… if she had turned up and found him asleep, he was sure she would have chosen not to wake him and let him get some much needed rest.

Fili hadn’t been herself when she visited yesterday afternoon with Balin. She had been unnervingly quiet, swallowed by an old, over-sized sweater which she had fiddled with endlessly as Balin did an admirable job of talking about what they had seen at the Oriental Museum. Thorin was glad that they were going to get some time when it was just the two of them, so he could put his own pain aside, as agonising as it was, and focus on making sure his niece wasn’t suffering the same as he was.

As if she knew the direction of her uncle’s thoughts, Fili herself suddenly appeared in the doorway, stopping short when she found Thorin staring at her.

“Hey,” she said, with a small smile, shifting the rucksack on her back.

“Hey,” Thorin replied, his heart sinking as he noted the faint grey smears at the corners of Fili’s eyes: she had been crying.

“You… er, you were asleep when I arrived so I… yeah, anyway, you’re awake now.” Fili moved into the room, perching on the end of the bed and shrugging the rucksack from her shoulder.

Thorin was used to being the awkward one where he and Fili were concerned, and he was trying not to let the worry show in his expression.

“Did you have a coffee with Radagast?” Thorin asked, trying to coax Fili into a conversation.

Fili immediately stiffened, and something very close to fear flickered in her blue eyes.

“Fili?” Thorin prompted, struggling to hide his concern.

“Okay, Uncle, I need to tell you something,” Fili whispered, and she started unzipping her rucksack. “And… and I need you to try not to freak out…”

And that was when Fili pulled Bilbo’s red leather journal out of her rucksack.

Thorin’s eyes widened and his heart dropped into his stomach. He shrank back into his pillows, away from the journal and from Fili.

“Where did you get that?” he said, his voice shaking.

Fili’s eyes were shining. “I went to speak to Bilbo.”

Thorin felt his own eyes beginning to burn… this couldn’t be happening. “You didn’t… You wouldn’t…”

“I did,” Fili replied. “He asked me to give you this.” Her fingers closed over the journal.

“I don’t want you visiting him,” Thorin said, with a low growl.

Fili straightened up with a look of defiance. “You can’t stop me.”

The words hit Thorin like a punch in the stomach and he was left reeling from the blow. Any response died in his throat as the tears clouded his vision. He couldn’t lose Fili. She had been his one, steadfast ally throughout everything… But now she had betrayed him, just like Bilbo.

“Please, Uncle,” Fili said, the words wrapped around a cry. “You’re breaking his heart.”

“He broke mine!” Thorin snapped back, his fingers clenching into fists in his lap.

“Oh, and that makes it alright, does it? To hide from him in here and refuse to even listen to his side of things?”

Thorin’s fingernails were pressing into his palms. “Get out,” he said, lips barely moving.

Fili didn’t move. “Uncle, please, just –”

“GET OUT!”

At first Fili seemed too stunned to react, and then her face crumpled and she fled from the room, hand pressing over her mouth to contain her cry.

Thorin stared after her, his whole body shaking, and then he was on his feet, swiping the journal from his bed, letting it land on the floor with a thump. He advanced on the heinous object, seriously considering stamping on it, when something else drew his gaze… a flash of gold in the corner of his eye.

There was a statue of Ganesh on his window sill.

He had no idea how it had got there, but Thorin didn’t care. He lumbered towards the window and seized the idol, before whirling around and slamming it into the opposite wall. It smacked into the white plaster, snapping the bronze trunk from its hideous head with a satisfying crack. There was an echoing clang as the broken god fell to the floor. For once, Thorin was stronger… and Bilbo wasn’t the only one who could create chaos.

And create chaos Thorin did.

With a roar he kicked the journal across the floor and then promptly threw his over-bed table half-way across the room.

And that was when strong hands were suddenly closing over his arms, pulling him into a restraining hold. Thorin struggled in Beorn’s grip as the hulking nurse tried to placate him… and then, as quickly as it had arrived, the rage was gone. Drawn from him like poison from a wound in Beorn’s grasp, the despair swiftly took its place.  

He had shouted at Fili, driven her away. How could she ever forgive him for speaking to her like that? He had wanted to make sure his niece wasn’t feeling his pain, and then only caused her more. The tears began to slide down his cheeks and Thorin let out a pitiful whimper, sagging in Beorn’s arms.

“Okay, Thorin, okay,” Beorn soothed, slowly lowering them both onto the floor, Thorin’s knees giving way beneath him.

“Thorin?”

Rosie appeared, as if out of nowhere, and came to kneel in front of him. The nurse wasn’t in her usual scrubs, but jeans and a jacket, and she was studying Thorin with a wary gaze.

“Rosie,” Thorin choked out, trying to blink away his tears. “W-what are you doing here?”

Beorn slowly loosened his hold on Thorin’s arms, letting him lean forward.

“Bilbo was asking for me,” Rosie said carefully. “But you know I’m not the person he really needs to see.”

Thorin let out a hiccupped sob. “I know… F-Fili tried to tell me… but I… I sent her away… I’ve r-ruined everything…”

“Of course you haven’t,” Rosie replied, squeezing his shoulder with a smile. “Fili is waiting outside the door, if you want to speak to her?”

Thorin nodded, screwing up his eyes against more tears.

“Fili?” Rosie called in the direction of the door.

Beorn moved away to go and see to the over-turned table and Rosie edged back to give Fili some space as she re-entered the room. Fili’s step was cautious and there was so much pain in her expression. Her cheeks were pale and tear-streaked. She came to her uncle’s side and slowly lowered herself onto the floor opposite him.

“Fili,” Thorin said hoarsely. “Fili, I’m so sorry…”

Fili didn’t waste any time in pulling him into a hug, wrapping her arms around his shoulders as her uncle let out a sob.

“It’s okay,” Fili whispered. “I’m sorry too… And you know I’m always on your side, right? You have to know that.”

“I know,” Thorin murmured, as they both drew away.

It was then that Rosie pushed the red journal into Fili’s hands. Fili looked down at it, then back up at Thorin.

“He loves you so much, Uncle,” Fili said, her voice catching. “And it’s not just the last entry you need to read… He… He started writing to you when you first met and since then, all the entries, they’re all addressed to you.”

Thorin stared down at the journal with wide eyes. All those entries… addressed to him? And for a fraction of a second, the pain in his chest abated, and Thorin knew what he needed to do.

“I’ll read it,” he said, holding out his hands for the journal, taking it from Fili with such care, as if it were a holy text.

“Do you want to read it down here or on your bed?” Rosie asked gently.

Only in this surreal situation would this be a serious question.

“Might be better on the bed,” came Thorin’s reply, with the flicker of a smile.

Rosie and Fili helped him to his feet, and then Thorin clambered onto the bed, crossing his legs under him, the journal still clutched in his hands.  

“I’m going to take Fili for a coffee,” Rosie said, straightening the collar of her jacket. “Beorn has just whisked old Ganesh off to A&E, otherwise known as super glue in the nurses’ office, and Radagast or Poppy will be on hand if you need anything.”

Thorin nodded. “Okay… Thank you, Rosie.”

Fili pulled him into another brief hug, squeezing his shoulders, and then the two women disappeared from the room, their chatter filling the corridor.

Thorin stared down at the leather journal in his lap and ran a reverent finger over the cover. Drawing in a deep breath and exhaling carefully, he selected a random page, opened the journal, and began to read.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right. So, I told myself I’d never do a Bilbo POV chapter in this fic: convinced myself that I just don’t have the talent to pull off the perspective of such a complicated character. However, I will be attempting exactly that in the next update as Thorin reads through Bilbo’s journal entries… and I need your help! 
> 
> Please let me know in your comments which scenes you would like to see from Bilbo’s perspective – but can these be scenes from Bilbo and Thorin’s time at Ered Luin, anything about Bilbo’s past pre-Thorin is going to be covered in later chapters!
> 
> And, guys, thank you so much for sticking with this story despite the pain! But the end of this update is a turning point, and I promise things are actually going to start to get better in the next few chapters! :)


	36. Chapter 36

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The only heaven I’ll be sent to is when I’m alone with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Now, this chapter has been by far the hardest to write, so much so that I had to employ a little bit of ‘method writing’: I found myself sitting on my bed in my old uni hoodie with a notebook bought especially. This is the first chapter to be hand-written before being typed up, and the first to be written in bursts: it has been a truly tricky process, but I’m very pleased to be able to present the finished product to you now. 
> 
> I hope that you all find some of the answers you were looking for.
> 
> Warning: This chapter features elements of suicide ideation.

_-April-_

_Dear Thorin,_

_It’s been six days since we last spoke… and since we first spoke, actually. And your complete refusal to leave your room for any reason other than your sessions is making my attempts at accidentally bumping into you very difficult. You’ve left me pining over you like a bloody teenager. I’m even writing about your lack of acknowledgement in a journal, for Christ’s sake! Just you watch, I’ll be doodling hearts around your name by the end of the week. Anyway, you’ve reduced this military strategist with almost ten years’ experience in the field to finding excuses to walk past your door three times a day. A very elaborate plan, I know. J. C. Wylie would be proud._

_Rosie caught me the other day and she’s been infuriatingly smug ever since. I’m about to give it another go: you’ve got a session soon and I know you’ll be waiting to be collected, so maybe you’ll be looking towards the doorway… Well, I’ve made it blatantly obvious now that I’ve figured out your session schedule, so I might as well admit I know your obs timetable as well. I’ve figured out your daily routines, just like an obsessed, mooning teenager. Or a stalker._

 

_-April-_

_Dear Thorin,_

_I know you think the first time we saw each other was the night you tried to do a runner, but actually, I saw you arrive on the ward on that grey April morning. I’d love to say that our first meeting was one of poetic proportions, that it was cinematic, thrilling, full of the class and glamour of a Hollywood meet-cute, and worthy of soaring music… but, in reality, you looked like you’d just been spat out of the bowels of Hell as they wheeled you in and I was sitting on the nurses’ station with a bright pink post-it stuck to my forehead on which ‘Lady GaGa’ was scrawled in block capitals. Romantic or what?_

_I’ve been cruel to you just now… You could never look like shit. Lord knows today, even in sweatpants and adjusting to a new cocktail of medication, you look like a male model who’s unwittingly wandered off the set of a Georgio Armani ad. (It still feels strange realising just how attracted to you I am… Suffice to say it’s been a very long time, it’s just something else I’m having to re-learn.) But I digress. What I mean is you looked tired. Very tired. You were hunched over in that wheelchair with a blue blanket thrown over your lap, trying not to look at anyone and hide your shaking hands. You came in with a beautiful, dark-haired woman – a female mirror-image I now know to be your sister. She was murmuring to you, but you didn’t seem to hear her – you only reacted when she tried to touch you and you flinched away. God, don’t I understand that feeling well._

_On the other side of this tableau is me, working that pink post-it, legs dangling over the nurses’ station. Radagast and Rosie have told me off for sitting on the desk and acting like I own the place, but what can I say? I’ve always been a rebel. Rosie and I were playing that party game where you write a celebrity’s name on a post-it and stick it on someone’s forehead and they have to guess who they are by asking questions. Fun is allowed around here occasionally, you see. And so that’s how you arrived, completely and utterly unexpected, into my life. But what happened next was even more unprecedented._

_In Toni Morrison’s ‘Sula’, the eponymous heroine’s best friend, Nel, describes her depression as a kind of grey woollen ball following her around: something that’s always there in the periphery of her vision. For me, the grey wool is inside, tangled in my head, in my stomach, my chest… stopping me from feeling anything. That morning I hadn’t felt anything other than fear for a very long time. I didn’t really feel pain all that much anymore._

_But then I saw you._

_I don’t mean that it was love at first sight. In all honesty, I still don’t know what to call this particular emotion… just that it was an emotion. I looked at you, slumped in that wheelchair, and I felt something. I almost fell off the nurses’ station. I must have been staring at you for a long time because Rosie asked if I knew you. _

_And then you disappeared into the room next to mine. (You’re quite literally ‘the boy next door’, but I’ll whine about the absurdity of all this another time.)_

_From the first second, Thorin, you intrigued me. And when you’ve spent years wallowing in the mires of apathy, that’s no mean feat, I can tell you._

_So, after all this I finally regained myself and pulled the post-it off my forehead, only to discover that these strange, unforeseen moments had passed with me being labelled ‘Lady GaGa’. And it somewhat blunted the profundity of the whole thing._

 

Thorin ran a trembling finger over the page, the black-inked letters blurring into illegible patterns as he blinked back the tears. It was as if Bilbo was sitting across from him on the bed, dictating every word. Because these entries were so unmistakably made up of the Bilbo he knew, the Bilbo he loved: wry, cynical, and sharp as an axe. And discovering that for those three weeks after their first meeting, when he had been desperate to see Bilbo again, Bilbo himself had also been trying to get his attention… It made something start thumping again in the hole in Thorin’s chest. It was painful at first, like the return of sensation to a numbed limb, but it still spurred Thorin on. Hastily rubbing at his eyes, he turned over the pages, going backwards this time, trying to find the first entry addressed to him, and it didn’t take long:

 

_-April-_

_Dear Thorin,_

_I think I should explain why all of a sudden this entry is addressed to you. Gandalf is aware of the limited success of this journal thus far. He’s been sufficiently unimpressed by my sarcastic and frankly dishonest attempts at talking to myself… So he suggested that I start a kind of epistolary narrative. Prim and Drogo, or my parents, were recommended recipients. But, ever the frustrating, rebellious patient, I’ve chosen you instead… a man I barely know, whose name I only discovered from eavesdropping on nurses, but someone I really wish I could talk to… and that desire is still completely foreign for me. I found it quite uncomfortable at first, but I think I’m adjusting._

_Now, I suppose I should talk about our first interactions. It appears being nocturnal does have some perks, most notably being awake when a drop dead gorgeous, but very clueless, very confused war hero decides he’s going to walk out the door of a secure psychiatric ward at 3am. I really don’t know where I found the courage to get out of bed and stop you as you stumbled past my room. You’d got yourself dressed – as evidenced by your inside out t-shirt, but don’t worry, meds will do that – and you clearly had no plan other than just walking out the door. It was the realisation that you hadn’t actually cottoned onto the fact that the doors are locked that brought feeling rearing out of the wool in my chest. These weren’t feelings of pity – I could never pity you – more like an ache, like the wool being pulled taut._

_So I started talking to you. I can’t really remember what it was we spoke about, and how I do regret that, but whatever it was, it made you stop. And then Rosie came back from Ori’s room and saw us. After making sure I saw her sly smirk, she went and put you back to bed._

_I’m glad I stopped you leaving. I’m telling myself it’s because this is where you need to be for the moment… but I know there are selfish reasons too. I wanted you to stay so we would have chance to talk some more. But I suppose being selfish is something I’m used to._

Thorin lowered the journal back into his lap, that final sentence sending a horrible stinging shooting up through the fingers connected with the page. Dwalin had called Bilbo ‘selfish’, and Thorin knew he had thought it too… it seemed it was a word Bilbo had already applied to himself months ago, but Thorin couldn’t help but think he was being too harsh on himself here. Wanting someone to stay so they could become friends just seemed like a very human reaction. Drawing in a deep breath, Thorin’s eyes returned to the journal. Entries were only ever marked with a month, with no specific date, and Thorin suspected this was fully intentional, and Bilbo had his reasons. Finding the first entry marked with ‘May’, and his eyes being drawn to a familiar name, Thorin began to read again.

 

_-May-_

_Dear Thorin,_

_Your niece, Fili, has just peered into my room again. You know, some of her mannerisms are so like yours it’s unnerving… Shall we pretend it’s not also very unnerving that I’ve been staring at you enough to notice that? Anyway, this is the second time I’ve seen her trying to get a glimpse of me… and I’m not sure I’m ready to put this down to simple teenage nosiness. Is it too hopeful – and just plain conceited – to wonder if you’ve spoken to her about me? The very thought is tangling the wool in my stomach… There you go, making me feel things again! _

_She’s in your room now and I’m thinking it might be time for a bold move. I’m going to try and speak to you again. Maybe it’ll be easier with Fili there as a sort of security blanket… for me as well as for you._

_Right, enough talking: this is it, lads, the Big Push. Time to go Over the Top. Here’s hoping a Somme-style slaughter isn’t waiting for me as I leave the safety of my room…_

_-May-_

_Dear Thorin,_

_I’ve returned from your room, and now it’s time for a thorough debriefing. You really are so unprecedented. I tried to be casual as I walked past your room, but I wasn’t expecting to find you on all fours with your bum in the air. I should probably clarify here that you were doing yoga. And wasn’t it a sight to behold? Fili spotted me straight away but didn’t say a word, just gave me this beautiful grin. And then finally you noticed me standing in the doorway and oh, you were mortified. You couldn’t even look me in the eye and I was bricking it, convinced it was time to cut my losses and abort this mission._

_But somehow I persevered. I was right in thinking that Fili provided quite the security blanket for us both, and what an incredibly bright young woman she is. It turns out she’s thinking of applying to Birmingham, my Alma Mater, which I will admit, was difficult information to swallow at first. But we’ll just say that I’m fairly used to this bastard universe enjoying giving me a nudge and a wink every now and again._

_It’s so obvious how much Fili adores you, and how much you love her, even though I’m guessing you two haven’t really been close before. And I can’t describe how endearing it is, the fact that you clearly weren’t enjoying the yoga, that it was Fili’s idea, that it was making you very uncomfortable, but still you did it: to make Fili happy. You, Thorin Oakenshield, are a truly good person. And truly good people are very hard to come by in this world._

_It took you a long time to join the conversation, not that I would’ve minded if you hadn’t said one word to me the whole time – I was just worried that I’d upset you, that your silence meant my presence was unwanted… But then you only went and picked up on my sneaky nod to Shakespeare. From that point, well from the moment I saw you ~~on all fours,~~ doing yoga, I was a goner. _

Thorin jumped when a small droplet of water hit the page in front of him, the clear globe muddying the black ink beneath it, growing cloudy and grey. The tears were slowly sliding down his nose as he made a choked sound at the back of his throat. As emotional as reading these entries was, he knew what had provoked this particular sob: it was the confirmation that Bilbo had spoken the truth when he revealed that he had fallen in love with Thorin when he first saw him in Downward Facing Dog all those months ago.

The pain in Thorin’s chest was lingering, being slowly stirred by the wariness he still felt, but there was also a pull there along with the beating… and he realised he was simply hungry to know more. It was with a dull throb that a second revelation came: aside from everything else, aside from the pain, and the anger, and the uncertainty, he knew he was missing Bilbo. They hadn’t spoken for almost three days now: the longest time in their relationship’s history, and this journal was the best available substitute. Carefully dabbing at the grey sphere of water, and trying not to smudge the ink too much, Thorin turned the page again.

 

_-May-_

_Dear Thorin,_

_You stare at me a lot. I’m not sure if you realise you’re doing it… and just how intense you look. It’s rather terrifying and rather beautiful. Graham used to stare a lot too. But this is different: I don’t mind your staring so much. I also knew exactly what Graham was thinking, but you… I know you think I can read your mind, and I suppose I am getting pretty good at understanding your body language, sensing your mood, but if only I could actually read your mind. I want to know everything that you’re thinking and have ever thought, what your dreams look like, what it feels like to be you, just everything about you, really… I’m at risk of growing poetic again. Well, depression makes poets of us all._

_I do also want to know why you stare at me. I’m guessing you find me a bit confusing, so maybe the staring is you trying to figure me out. I know I have the sexual allure of Uncle Fester, so I highly doubt this is actually your way of checking me out… but how part of me wishes this is exactly what it is. And then I try to stop myself wishing, because I know actively pursuing you has been selfish. Because I know I should leave you alone, that you don’t need someone like me in your life. I should leave you alone, and God, I wish I could._

_-May-_

_Dear Thorin,_

_As we’ve established, I’m not going to leave you alone, but it also appears my pursuing of you has been far too half-hearted. And I try not to do things by halves. I have a feeling subtlety isn’t something you do well with… as in subtlety in other people. You’re remaining absolutely oblivious to my attempts at flirting with you. So, either you’re still clueless about my feelings, or my gaydar has failed me and I’ve been hitting on a straight man for a month. The latter really wouldn’t surprise me… just another joyous middle finger from the universe. However, I sincerely hope the former is the case, and therefore I’m right in thinking that it’s now time for a grander gesture, one of the thirty-foot high neon sign variety. Hopefully then you’ll get the message._

_-May-_

_Dear Thorin,_

_Today wasn’t a very good day for you. It was Haldir’s fanfaronade of incompetence that brought me to your room. You were hiding under your bed, still caught in the middle of some horrible episode… And God, before I even saw you, the grey wool in my chest had grown spikes. I ended up sitting with you under your bed, with you shaking like a leaf, convinced you were still bleeding out in the desert._

_All I wanted to do was take your pain away. Seeing you suffering like that, it made the wool harden to barbed wire coils, and I would’ve done anything to steal all that feeling from you and give you some of my grey wool instead. As that was an impossibility, I guess I tried to do the next best thing: I showed you that you weren’t alone._

_Up until that point, I had no intention of rolling up my sleeve. I wanted to keep alive your fantasy that I’m hale and whole… but I knew you deserved so much more, that you deserved to know the truth. So I showed you my wrist, and it brought you back._

_Today was not a good day for you, but one thing that did come out of it was an idea for my grand gesture. When you were back in bed, slowly sinking into medicated fog, I asked if there was anything I could do for you (And I really would do anything for you, you have to know that), but the only thing you wanted was ‘a fucking decent cup of coffee’. And now I’ve got an idea._

_Wooing you, Thorin Oakenshield, is about to turn into a military operation._

_Here’s hoping this is one that will go to plan._

 

_-May-_

_Dear Thorin,_

_I realised something last night. I’ve been putting it off for a while now, but 'Operation Espresso' has gained a secondary objective._

 

Thorin had to grab the journal before it slipped from his lap, and his fingers tightened around the dark red leather of its cover as his chest contracted. That was all the entry said, just those two enigmatic sentences that almost swelled off the page with the weight of all they contained. The thumping in the cavern within his chest was growing much faster now as Thorin re-read the two lines. He knew now what the secondary objective was, and that sent shards of pain twisting into his stomach… but there was something else too. Like Bilbo, he found the emotion hard to describe, but this entry, and the ones before it, meant something else. It meant Bilbo had been planning their first date before he realised it would give him a chance to get hold of the surgical scissors… It meant that his intention had always been to make Thorin happy, to try and show him how much he cared for him.

Thorin jolted when a snort left him, surprised by this seemingly out-of-place reaction. But he had just had another realisation: Bilbo had intended their escape to be a grand gesture, and afterwards Thorin, oblivious as he always was, had still needed Fili to explain Bilbo’s motivations to him. He was shaking now with the build-up of conflicting emotions, but still Thorin soldiered on and flicked through the pages until he found another entry he had been looking for.

 

_-May-_

_Dear Thorin,_

_It’s time for another debriefing. I fear we may be entering lovesick teenager territory again, but oh, you were magnificent today, and ‘Operation Espresso’ was a complete success. It took me a few days and many sleepless hours to collect all the required intelligence, to brief Ori, and square things with the young porter, but in the end it was all worth it to see the beautifully soft smile on your face as you sat across from me at the Esgaroth Coffee House. You were glowing as we toasted our success with our coffee cups, and you were looking especially handsome in your blue scrubs and grey beanie… Honestly, I almost had a coronary when you first put it on. I’m very glad I caught Dr. Burrows wearing it as he arrived on the ward last week._

_I know the coffee shop owner made you nervous, and I know Radagast and Rosie’s interruption set you on edge, but I sincerely hope our outing cheered you up… that in some small way I made you happy. You deserve all the happiness in the world, Thorin, and I just wanted to give you as much as possible in that little walled garden. I think it stopped being about grand declarations the moment you looked up at that gorgeous blue sky and wouldn’t stop grinning. Then it was all about keeping that grin on your face and doing what I could to keep your pain at bay._

_Of course, Haldir had to take a shot at me when we returned to the ward, but that was expected. I’d taken his phone, his ID, and his cigarettes, along with his dignity, so I suppose he had to do something to dampen my mood… You’re going to ask me about it tomorrow, but until that point I’m just going keep that image of you smiling fixed firmly at the forefront of my mind._

 

_-May-_

_Dear Thorin,_

_They fired the porter, Rowan, this morning. This was his first ever job, to show his parents he wasn’t lazy like his older brother, that he wanted to do something with his life… and I’m the reason he lost it, had to go back home and tell his parents what happened. Ori’s nose is still twitching from when he banged it faking his psychotic episode. He agreed so willingly to causing the distraction for me… as I knew he would, so eager and naïve, just like Rowan._

_Even when I try to do something for someone else, I still find myself being selfish. I should have thought about the repercussions for Rowan and Ori. I could have found a way to avoid involving them, make sure it was me who took all the heat. But I didn’t. I’m no stranger to guilt. In fact, I’m sure I’m guilt’s closest companion, but that doesn’t stop another layer settling like silt over the wool in my stomach._

_I’m not a good person, Thorin. I wish I could make you understand that._

_I thought I was going to try, but then we ended up holding hands instead, and I liked it too much to let go._

 

Thorin slowly sucked in a long breath. It had never occurred to him that Bilbo might feel this regret over the porter losing his job and Ori’s injury… He had barely given them a second thought – he had only been thinking about Bilbo – so wasn’t he just as guilty? It seemed Bilbo was punishing himself for wanting things, for being human, and it sent another ache echoing through his chest when he re-read the line that stated Bilbo didn’t think he was a good person. Even though he had done his best to make Thorin happy, he had still found a way to berate himself.

It wasn’t lost on Thorin that Bilbo had made no mention of the scissors in these entries, but he supposed Bilbo was much too careful and cautious a person to put that in print. He also wondered if Bilbo was trying to hide this secondary objective from himself, as well as others, and trying not think about it until it was time. Exhaling with equal slowness as he had inhaled, Thorin turned the page and found the entries were now marked with ‘June’.

 

_-June-_

_Dear Thorin,_

_Rosie asked me about you today. We were going through the usual motions of our ‘Hoodie-washing ritual’, which involves us sitting in front of a washing machine in the laundry playing poker, me wearing her NHS hoodie as substitute, whilst my Birmingham hoodie gets its monthly clean. She brought up Graham and asked, fairly discreetly by Rosie’s standards, if she needed to tell you to back off. And that’s when I first said the words out loud, so I guess that means it’s time to write them here._

_I’m in love with you, Thorin._

_I’ve been in love with you from that moment I first found the courage to go into your room and speak to you. I know this entry is at risk from turning into an Elizabeth Barrett Browning poem, but I still can’t help but tell you why I love you._

_Perhaps it’s because you have so much love in you. You’ve been through so much, lost almost everything, including yourself, but you still have all that love to give… I see it every time you look at your sister, even if she’s winding you up, and whenever Fili or Kili come to visit, you do all you can to be the best uncle possible, even if you find it difficult or uncomfortable. You have so much courage as well as love, and that I also admire greatly._

_You’ve also become a voice in my head. Coming from someone who’s been in psychiatric care for three years, I know how dodgy that sounds… but I don’t quite mean that I’m actually hearing your voice, more remembering it. Now, depersonalisation is a real bitch, and I’ve spent years trying to get used to my own voice inside my head. When I first came to Ered Luin, it was like re-learning what it meant to think, being scared of my own voice… and then I was just sick of it, sick of hearing myself droning on and on. And then I started to hear your voice too, I started to remember things you’d said, conversations we’d had, and God, it was such a relief… to feel like I was giving myself a break, and your voice was so comforting._

_But you don’t seem to be aware of any of this, of what you’re doing to me. You’re so humble, Thorin. You don’t seem to understand that after feeling very little for years, you came along and made me feel every emotion under the sun, so that I can barely keep up with them, so that I’m almost bursting at the seams._

_And you keep trying even when things go wrong for you. And you clearly aren’t aware of how ridiculously beautiful you are or what a good person you are._

_And so I love you._

_More than I have ever loved anyone._

_More than I will ever love myself._

 

The journal tumbled over Thorin’s knees as he reached a hand up to his mouth, pressing the cry right back into it. ‘I love you’ sprang from the page, wrapped itself like a bandage around the hole in Thorin’s chest, and some of the doubts slowly shrunk back into the dark corners of his mind. His first instinct had been to leap from the bed, but he knew there were still too many questions he needed answering. Bilbo’s journal entries were growing sparser and shorter, and Thorin suspected there were several reasons for that. Retrieving the journal and once again setting it carefully in his lap, he turned to the last page marked ‘June’, and found a single-line entry:

 

_-June-_

_Dear Thorin,_

_I kissed you last night. And it was one of the best moments of my life._

 

It was with a pang that Thorin realised he might actually be disappointed. Their first kiss had been such a mile stone for him, he supposed he wished Bilbo had written more… but then again there was probably an explanation for this brief summary, one tangled up with Bilbo’s issues with intimacy and his phantom visits to Dr. Cox. It was with a feeling of building dread that Thorin turned over the next page and Bilbo’s July began.

 

_-July-_

_Dear Thorin,_

_You’re getting better. You’ve stopped counting in your head, and you’re coping so much better with contact, with communication. But you don’t realise it, do you?_

_When people write their own stories, they always seem to portray themselves as the hero, but I’m not the hero in this story – that’s your role. I am, and always will be, the villain. And right now I’m thinking like a villain._

_I’m hoping that if I write this down, it’ll stop me thinking it, that it’ll stop me acting on it. I could trigger you. I’ve catalogued all your fears now – I did it so I could help you, keep you clear of harm, but now it’s such a tempting tool. I could trigger you and make it look like an accident, and then your discharge date might be delayed._

_I hate that I’ve even thought about it. Self-loathing isn’t exactly new to me, but this… God, Thorin, I really do hate myself for it. I wish the idea had never come to me, that your voice in my head could wash it away, but I’ve written it down now, so I won’t do it. I mustn’t do it. I mustn’t do that to you._

 

His throat tightening and breaths growing heavier, Thorin quickly flicked over the page, knowing what must be coming… and then he found a tattered, paper mountain range down the centre of the journal. Bilbo had torn out the pages. With a tentative finger, Thorin brushed over the scrunched, jagged edges as if examining a wound. What was it Bilbo didn’t want anyone, even himself, to see? Thorin had just begun to panic that this entire endeavour would be ruined if the most important entries were missing when his eyes shifted to the entry on the page bordering the ripped paper.

 

_-July-_

_Dear Thorin,_

_I spent endless hours coaching myself, ready for that hideous moment in your room. They say forewarned is forearmed, and I knew that soon you were going to tell me that you were leaving. So I tried to train my mind, tried to focus on the part of me that is genuinely so happy for you, because all I really want now is for you to be happy._

_I told myself that when that moment happened, I was going to smile, laugh even, give you a hug, stay completely calm and let you talk through your arrangements for your discharge. But when the actual moment came… I couldn’t handle it. My selfish side betrayed me, as it has many times before, and I could just feel all those horrible things building up inside me, so I had to get out of your room before I did any damage._

_I think maybe it was the realisation that you’d finally set everything in motion, of the steps to be taken. I’ve been poised like a sprinter waiting for the gunshot for so long now, that when I finally heard the signal… Well, I suppose I panicked and ran in the opposite direction._

_I tried to get everything back on track… I tried to leave you, Thorin, but I couldn’t do it. God, if I was stronger, if I was a better person I would’ve left you long ago… before any of this happened, but as I’ve told you before: I’m not a better person._

_And then you said: ‘I love you’._

_I should’ve learnt by now, Thorin, that you always do the unexpected._

_I suppose it was foolish of me to think that what was going on between us would remain unspoken forever. I think I just hoped that I would never have to face it._

_I don’t mean to say that I don’t value your love, Thorin. It is by far my most precious possession, and I’m honoured to have it, I really am… It’s simply the fact that I don’t deserve such a wonderful thing as your love._

_I love you because you are full of love, but I know you don’t have infinite amounts of it, Thorin, and I don’t want to take it from you. You must keep your love for Dis, for Fili and Kili, and most importantly, for yourself._

_Now, I could write an 80,000 word thesis on inner conflict and what it’s like to have daily existential crises, but I suppose I’ll just be more succinct and say I both want and don’t want you to love me._

_I wonder, would you still love me if you knew everything that I’ve done?_

_This entry is growing to a ramble now, although I admit it is far more eloquent and lacking in expletives than its predecessors, which have been rightly deposed._

_I love you, Thorin, and that’s why I’m going to make sure I don’t stand in the way of your happiness, and that you keep your love for the people who deserve it._

 

Thorin stared down at the slanted, rushed script on the page before him. It was obvious how frantic Bilbo had been when he had written it… Obvious from the scrawled letters and the way Bilbo’s mind appeared to be moving so quickly, his thoughts so desperate. It was then that Dr. Grey’s words returned to him, dredged up from the depths of his mind: “Bilbo has a very high opinion of you, Thorin. However, he does not have a very high opinion of himself.” There was a pain growing in his chest again, but this wasn’t from what Bilbo had done, it was from knowing _why_ he had done it. Bilbo really believed he wasn’t a good person, that he was undeserving of Thorin’s love. He clearly couldn’t see what Thorin saw, what everyone else could see… He didn’t realise just how much he had changed Thorin’s life for the better, that Thorin owed him so much.

Flicking through the pages, Thorin’s stomach jolted when he discovered there were only a few entries left. Bilbo had written very little at all for the remaining months, and the entries seemed to be growing shorter still.

 

_-July-_

_Dear Thorin,_

_I miss you. I miss you so much I’m starting to feel pain properly again._

 

_-August-_

_Dear Thorin,_

_You trust me. You trust me more than anyone else here does. Right from the very beginning, you’ve trusted me with everything that you are. And I both love and hate you for it. And I hate lying to you. I can’t stand myself for lying to you. God, Thorin, you deserve so much more than this._

 

Thorin turned the page with a trembling hand, feeling his eyes begin to sting again. There were only two entries for September. One was just as short as those for August, almost promising that the entries were going to trickle into single-word form then fade away completely… but then a much longer entry appeared on the opposing page. Thorin tried to swallow, but couldn’t quite manage it. He was now standing with his toes curling over the precipice, but it was time to finish what he had started, and read Bilbo’s final thoughts before the end.

 

_-September-_

_Dear Thorin,_

_Fili got into Birmingham. And now I’m ready._

_-September-_

_Dear Thorin,_

_It’s now 11:17pm and just over three hours ago you signed out and left the ward. Saying goodbye to you tonight, Thorin, and watching you walk away from me, knowing I won’t see you tomorrow, has been one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do… but it looks like, at the end of everything, I’ve finally found my courage._

_There are so many things I want to say to you. So many things I wish we’d had chance to speak about, but now I find myself out of time._

_I’ve torn out some of the pages from the back of this journal and spent my evening trying to write this last letter to you. I suppose I’ll be glad to be remembered as the author of the world’s most edited, most redrafted suicide note. I know these things are supposed to be rushed, written in a flurry of emotion, but I can’t bear the thought of a typo in here… You are allowed to laugh at that comment._

_I want to start now by saying I understand if you can’t read this straight away. I know my decision is going to hurt you, and that my deception is probably going to hurt even more, and I hate that fact whenever I think about it, I despise the thought of ever causing you pain… But… Well, I want to use phrases like ‘in the long run’ and ‘for the better’, but they sound so pompous. I don’t want my last words to you to sound empty and formal, this isn’t a last will and testament after all – that can be found between pages 24 and 25 of my master’s thesis, Gandalf – this is a letter from the man who loves you more than anything or anyone else in the world._

_Thorin Oakenshield, you are the utterly unexpected, utterly brilliant, and utterly beautiful love of my life. You’ve given me so much in this final year and allowed me to truly live before the end – something which, as I’ve said, was so completely unexpected, and something for which I am eternally grateful._

_The problem is, Thorin, I’ve given very little back to you. I’ve been taking from you all this time, taking your love, taking your happiness, and I can’t do that to you anymore. I’ve made the decision not to stand in your way, to not be an obstacle for you anymore._

_I know you fully intended to visit me in Ered Luin every day for the rest of our lives, but I want so much more for you, Thorin. You deserve so much more than that. You deserve someone who can make you truly happy, because that really is all I want for you. Someone who can join you in the real world, who can look after you, support you, make you laugh. Someone you can spend the day in bed with, someone who can take you out to dinner, and walk with you hand in hand down the street. I really hope you find that person, Thorin, and whoever they are, I hope they know that they are the luckiest person in the world._

_For all this journal has been fairly philosophical – probably annoyingly so at points – I don’t think I’ve ever spoken properly about death, about what I believe will happen to me when I die. You may have noticed that I use the Lord’s name in vain an awful lot – something inherited from my mum. However, for all I call out to Him every other sentence, I’m afraid I don’t actually believe in His existence. I don’t believe I’m going to Heaven, or Hell for that matter, but I am hoping for one thing: that if there is an afterlife, it will be a comfortable, dark space where I am allowed to keep my conscious thoughts. And I will spend the rest of forever replaying all the moments we’ve shared in my head. That’s all I dare to hope for._

_But whatever happens to my soul, my spirit or essence after I die, Thorin, please, please know this: I will always love you. That is something that will forever remain in the present tense, and I beg you not to forget that, even when you’re upset, and hurt, and angry, know that wherever I am, I love you._

_It’s past midnight now. I’m not sure what else you’re meant to say when it’s your last day on Earth, and I think it’s about time I said goodnight._

_So goodnight, Thorin, I wish you all the happiness you so dearly deserve._

_All my love,_

_Forever yours,_

_Bilbo_

_x_

 

Thorin snapped the journal shut, suddenly hugging the leather cover to his chest, wrapping his arms around it. And then he cried. With huge, shuddering sobs he hunched over the book in his grasp, screwing up his eyes as the tears slid down his nose and into his lap.

It took Thorin a long time to realise this was a very unproductive course of action, but he finally found the strength to stumble off his bed, the journal still in hand, and stagger to his door before straightening up and walking in long, purposeful strides down the corridor. He passed Poppy at the nurses’ station. She opened her mouth before quickly shutting it again when the realisation dawned on her, and then Thorin was marching into Bilbo’s room.

The younger man was sitting on his bed, hoodie covering the thick, white bandages on his wrists, and his grey eyes instantly widened when Thorin appeared, but he didn’t say a word. Thorin slowed as he came to the table that was placed at the bottom of the bed. Making sure he kept his blue eyes on Bilbo, Thorin carefully placed the journal down on the table in front of him.

Bilbo was still studying him, his expression pained and his eyes already filling with tears, and Thorin stared back, forcing himself to draw in enough breath for what he needed to say.

“When I stared at you,” he began, trying to fight the tremble in his voice. “It was because I was desperate to know what you were thinking… because I was trying to figure out what to say to you… It was because I thought you were the m-most interesting, most b-beautiful p-person in the world…”

Thorin daren’t lift a hand to his stinging eyes as the tears came, didn’t dare move at all as his voice cracked, but then came Bilbo’s whimpered ‘Thorin’ and it was enough to send him rushing forward and clambering onto the bed. Bilbo rose onto his knees and they met in the middle, instinctively reaching out and pulling each other into a fierce embrace. Thorin wrapped an arm around Bilbo’s back and the other hand went to his head, guiding the shaking, sobbing younger man to him. Bilbo looped his arms around Thorin’s waist and pushed his face into the crook of his neck, and Thorin felt the tears wetting his t-shirt as he let out a shuddering cry.

“You know, for the cleverest person I’ve ever met,” Thorin said, his voice thick and muffled as he pressed his nose into Bilbo’s curls. “You’re also the biggest idiot.”

Bilbo let out a series of choked sounds and his fingers curled around the fabric of Thorin’s t-shirt. Slowly drawing away, Thorin reached down and cradled Bilbo’s face in his hands, gently coaxing him to straighten up so they could see each other. Bilbo stared at him, some green blossoming back in his eyes, but he still looked fearful.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice a little high. “I-I’m so sorry, Thorin…”

“Shhh,” Thorin soothed, wiping away Bilbo’s tears with his thumbs and leaning their foreheads together. “I know you are… I promise I do know… But –” Bilbo flinched at the word. “I… I’m still really angry, Bilbo… Fucking livid, in fact… I’m going to need a bit of time to… to get my head around this, alright?”

Bilbo drew away, and Thorin’s hands fell from his face as he nodded. “Of course… You… You take all the time you need,” he said quietly. “And if you want to go back to… to being just friends for a while, or… or for longer, I understand.”

Thorin let out a teary laugh. “You really are an idiot,” he said, although there was warmth in his voice. He reached back up to take Bilbo’s face in his hands. “Bilbo Baggins, you need to get it through that thick skull of yours that I’m not going anywhere, that I want to be with you… forever, that you are the one person I want to spend the rest of my life with.” Thorin gently rubbed his thumbs across Bilbo’s cheeks. “I… I know it’s not always going to be easy… and there are a few… well, a lot of things that need to change… but I’m going to be by your side for all of it… That is, if you’ll have me?”

Bilbo managed a watery smile as he looked up at Thorin. “I will,” he murmured, and then his shoulders sagged and he leaned back into him, snuggling into his chest.

Thorin wrapped his arms around Bilbo again and finally let out the breath he hadn’t even realised he’d been holding. He rested his chin on Bilbo’s hair and closed his eyes, listening to the sound of Bilbo’s uneven, but still beyond comforting breathing.

They still had a lot to talk about, and there were many unanswered questions… but for now, this was enough. Thorin’s heart was maintaining a steady thump in his chest. Bilbo’s actions had left a scar across it, like the ones on his wrists, but like these scars, it was finally a wound that was starting to heal. Many obstacles had been placed in their path in the past few days, but Thorin was sure he and Bilbo had just removed at least one.

And he could feel the pain in his chest finally starting to fade away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man, I am such a masochist! I’ve cried and screamed and sniffled over and over again whilst writing this chapter, and it really has been such a labour of love.
> 
> I know some of you were hoping to see Bilbo’s POV on the more *cough* intimate scenes in this fic and I just wanted to say: don’t panic! There are reasons Bilbo didn’t want to discuss them in his journal, but he will be discussing them with Dr. Cox in the near future ;)
> 
> Also, I’m sorry I missed out some of the later scenes in the fic, such as meeting Balin and Dwalin, but as I kept writing I realised my Bilbo was becoming more and more withdrawn and opposed to writing any of his feelings down… but I promise I’ll try and sneak in some of his opinions on our favourite Scots in future chapters!
> 
> Now, I do believe the worst is behind us… and guys, I do actually mean that. We’ve waded through all the angst and now all that remains is for our boys to heal. As Thorin has said, it won’t always be easy, but they will get there in the end.
> 
> Thank you everyone for sticking with me despite the horror that has been the past four chapters, your support has done and will always mean everything to me! :)


	37. Chapter 37

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 6,000+ words’ worth of cuddling, tales of drunken hilarity, dirty jokes, and more cuddling, because I think you all deserve a bit of fluff! 
> 
> …No, really!

Thorin wasn’t sure how long he had been holding Bilbo close to his chest, the younger man’s warm cheek pressed over his heart. It could have been hours for all time seemed to have slowed to a warm, comforting trickle of minutes, but finally Bilbo drew away, folding his legs under him. Thorin’s fingers slid down Bilbo’s arms, coming to rest over the hands that were placed in his lap: now that they had returned to each other, he felt a desperate need to be physically connected for as long as possible.

“Your hand,” Bilbo murmured, with a hint of distress, and Thorin followed his gaze down to the beige plasters wrapped around his knuckles.

“Oh… I, er, I’ve just bruised my knuckles, that’s all,” Thorin replied softly, letting Bilbo lift his hand and give it a scrutinising once over.

Thorin saw his brow furrow, and these weren’t the creases of concentration that he loved so much, but deep trenches of pain that were reflected in his clouded gaze… and he knew Bilbo was already blaming himself for the injury.

“I… I don’t really know how it happened,” Thorin continued, because Bilbo’s silence was worrying him. “But nothing’s broken, nothing’s sprained… j-just a few cuts.”

There was no reply, and Thorin’s concern was hooking needled claws into his stomach when Bilbo gently lifted his hand again and his lips brushed over the plasters, leaving a kiss on each sore knuckle. Thorin managed a small smile at the gesture, seeing something of the Bilbo he knew in it.

“Are you hurt anywhere else?” Bilbo asked quietly, lowering Thorin’s hand into his lap and keeping his fingers closed over it.

“I’ve scraped my knee,” Thorin admitted, suddenly becoming aware of the faint burn again and shifting his weight onto his right side. “But you probably don’t want to kiss that… It’s, er, all scabbed over and…”

He trailed off. Bilbo was still looking pained.

“Fili said you were covered in blood,” came the flat statement, Bilbo’s eyes searching his face, as if looking for a flicker, for confirmation.

Thorin only raised an eyebrow. “… Fili said that?”

“When she came to see me this afternoon,” Bilbo elaborated, his voice barely rising above a whisper. “She was… very upset with me, and rightly so. She asked if I had any idea what it was like being pulled out of her Biology lesson only to find her uncle curled up and shaking, covered in vomit and his own blood?”

Thorin lowered his gaze into his own lap, his injured hand twitching beneath Bilbo’s fingers. He knew Bilbo had memorised Fili’s words. When his niece first pulled the red journal out of her rucksack, Thorin had felt betrayed, but now he knew Fili spoke the truth when she said she was always on his side.

“My hand bled a lot,” Thorin explained, trying to keep his voice even. “That’s what she meant… I’m sorry, if… if she said anything that… She’s just taken all of this very hard…”

Thorin could hear himself stumbling over the words and he tried not to grit his teeth at his own incompetence. Things were very delicate between him and Bilbo at the moment, and he didn’t want anything to aggravate the situation any further.

Unexpectedly, it was Bilbo who shushed him as he began to stroke his thumb over the back of the hand in his lap.

“Neither of you have to apologise for anything,” he said, eyes studying the movements of his own thumb. “I’m glad Fili came to see me: I owed her plenty of explanations too.”

They were both quiet for a few moments, letting the words sink in, and then Bilbo’s eyes rose to meet Thorin’s.

“I never thought you’d be readmitted,” he said, forehead creased again. “This isn’t what I wanted… I thought I’d planned everything so –”

Bilbo abruptly cut himself off, looking away towards his pillows. Thorin waited, his stomach feeling a little tight, and when Bilbo still didn’t continue, he placed his uninjured hand over Bilbo’s, joining their fingers properly.

“Bilbo,” he said, trying to keep his tone as soft as possible. “Please… will you tell me?”

Bilbo winced, his shoulders rising and falling as he drew in a deep breath, as if preparing himself. “I knew you had a session at eleven o’ clock that morning… I tried to time everything so that when you found out, you’d be on the ward: the safest place for you to be… so you had the support you needed immediately on hand.”

Thorin felt his chest give a dull twinge. Bilbo really had tried his best to protect him, whilst still completely underestimating what his actions would do to him. But Thorin felt now probably wasn’t the time to drum into Bilbo just how far off the mark he had been, not when they were less than an hour into their reunion.  

“Looks like I did something utterly unexpected again,” Thorin said, giving Bilbo’s hands a squeeze.

Bilbo’s lips twitched with the beginnings of a smile, and it was one of the most beautiful things Thorin had ever seen. He was about to try and form words to that effect, when there was a soft knock on Bilbo’s open door. They both turned as Poppy stepped into the room with an apologetic smile.

“I just wanted to check on you both,” she explained, coming to collect Bilbo’s chart from the box at the end of the bed.  She scanned the notes in front of her, before turning to Bilbo. “How’s your stomach feeling, Bilbo?”

“Still a little tender,” Bilbo replied stoically, avoiding Thorin’s eye.

Poppy’s pen hovered over the chart. “Okay, but no more vomiting since this morning?”

Bilbo shook his head.

“Any more symptoms? Dizziness, headache, palpitations?”

Again, Bilbo shook his head.

“Great.” Poppy made a few notes. “And can you score your pain for me?”

Thorin didn’t miss the sideways glance from Bilbo, signalling his hesitance to answer the question, but he gave his hands another gentle squeeze, hoping this would be taken as encouragement.

Bilbo sighed. “Four, creeping up to five.”

Poppy’s expression became sympathetic. “I’ll get some more pain relief sorted out for you.”

The nurse was setting the chart back into its box when Bilbo stopped her: “What pain relief are you giving me?”

“I think Dr. Grey will probably prescribe you some codeine,” Poppy replied carefully.

“And that won’t… exacerbate the side effects?”

“It shouldn’t do,” came Poppy’s answering reassurance. “But I will check with Dr. Grey, just in case.”

Bilbo nodded. “Thank you, Poppy.”

“And how about you, Thorin?” Poppy asked, startling Thorin, who was trying to make sense of these worrying exchanges. “Can I get you anything?”

“Oh, er, n-no,” Thorin stuttered. “I’m fine… thanks.”

Poppy smiled again. “Okay, I’ll be right back.”

Thorin stared after the nurse as she headed back to the nurses’ station, and then slowly turned to Bilbo again. The younger man’s posture had become slightly hunched, as if he was expecting an attack.

“Bilbo,” Thorin said, as gently as possible. He lifted his injured hand to Bilbo’s face, cupping his cheek. “Is… everything alright?”

Thorin knew this wasn’t the best question to ask under the circumstances, but he couldn’t quite wrap his head around how to enquire if someone was… well, sicker than usual.

“Gandalf is trying out a new course of medication,” Bilbo explained meekly. “Adjusting to it… hasn’t been very easy, there’s been some, er, unpleasant side effects.”

Thorin knitted his brow. “How _new_?” he growled, not at all happy with the idea of Bilbo being used as some kind of lab rat.

Unexpectedly, Bilbo chuckled, leaning into Thorin’s palm. “Not new as in experimental drug trial,” he said, warmth in his voice. “Just different to my usual medication… Gandalf and I agreed it was time for a change, but if these side effects don’t settle down, we’ll try something else.”

Thorin nodded, exhaling slowly. “Okay… but I – I don’t like that they’re causing you this much pain.”

Bilbo stiffened under Thorin’s hand, and so he slowly brought it away from his face.

“The pain relief…” Bilbo began, staring into his lap. “It’s not for the side effects… it’s for my wrists.”

Thorin froze. He was an idiot. He was a complete and utter idiot. “Bilbo, I’m sorry… I should’ve realised… Shit…” He grimaced, worried that he was going to tip them both over the knife edge they were balanced upon.

Bilbo ran the tips of his fingers over the back of Thorin’s hand, shushing him again. Before Thorin had chance to dig his hole any deeper, Poppy reappeared with the pain relief.

“Here you go,” she smiled, handing the plastic pot over to Bilbo. “Dr. Grey says there should be no issues with it affecting your other medication."

Bilbo offered a small smile in return before swallowing the single pill and returning the pot to the nurse.

“Someone will check back in an hour,” Poppy said, making a quick note on Bilbo’s chart. “But if either of you need anything, you know where we are.”

Thorin and Bilbo lowered their heads in simultaneous acknowledgement, and Poppy left the room again. The two of them sat in silence for a few moments, both just focusing on their breathing. Thorin looked up just in time to see Bilbo try to discreetly stifle a yawn.

“You haven’t been sleeping?” he asked carefully.

“No, not really,” Bilbo shrugged. “Unless forced sedation counts?”

Thorin flinched, and Bilbo instantly lifted two fingers up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“Sorry, that was very, er, unhelpful of me,” he murmured. “… Have you been sleeping?”

“No, not really,” Thorin replied, repeating Bilbo’s words. He’d failed to get any more than a couple of hours at a time since being readmitted, and many of those hours had been infected with the black smoke of nightmares.

Remembering that one of Bilbo’s gripes about their separation was being unable to share a bed, Thorin thought they should be making the best of this situation. “Would you like to… to try and sleep now?” he suggested. “We could… erm, snuggle?”

There was a sudden spark of green in Bilbo’s eyes, and this time a proper smile appeared on his lips. “That sounds heavenly,” he answered. “If that’s alright with you?”

The doubt had crept back into Bilbo’s voice, dimming his smile, and so Thorin slipped off the bed and began to pull back the bedcovers. “It’s more than alright with me.”

Bilbo mimicked his movements and helped him arrange the pillows, before they were both climbing into the bed, lying on their sides and facing each other.

“Comfy?” Thorin asked, tucking the sheets around Bilbo and moving closer to him. He stopped when he saw a troubling look in the younger man’s eyes, as if he wasn’t really present. “Bilbo…?”

Bilbo gave him a startled look. “S-sorry… I’m fine.”

Thorin studied him, feeling the dull twinge again, with something which was probably close to anger stirring in his stomach. He knew getting mad at Bilbo for keeping things from him wasn’t going to help, and so, drawing in a slow, deep breath, he attempted to go about it a different way.

“Bilbo, please…” His hand came to rest on Bilbo’s shoulder. “I… need us to start being honest with each other.” He made sure he worded it so he was talking about both of them, and not just attacking Bilbo for his past deceptions. “Will you… will you let me help you?”

Bilbo shifted against the pillows, moving himself closer to Thorin. He closed his eyes, exhaling carefully. “I’m not very happy with myself at the moment… So the… the detachment has got worse… I know it’s a subconscious defence mechanism, but I just can’t stand hearing my own voice in my head right now.”

Thorin thought of the journal entry in which Bilbo had spoken about his depersonalisation and how he was sick of his own thoughts. He moved his hand down to Bilbo’s neck, thumb stroking his jaw.

“What can I do?” he said gently, expression soft and tender.

Bilbo seemed to think for a moment, and then he responded, a little tentatively: “Will you talk to me? Your voice… it’s, well, very soothing… I like hearing it.”

“Of course,” Thorin replied, more than happy that Bilbo was finally letting him in. “What would you like me to talk about?”

“Would you tell me about before we knew each other?” Bilbo said, fingers finding Thorin’s t-shirt and beginning to worry the fabric. “Tell me something that happened to you when you were younger… Maybe some disastrous family event?”

Thorin smiled at that, mind quickly flicking through the array of family-related anecdotes he had yet to share with Bilbo, and it didn’t take him long to settle on a story. “Did I ever tell you about what happened on Vili’s stag do?” He slowly drew Bilbo closer to him.

“I don’t believe you did,” came Bilbo’s murmured reply. “But I’m already brimming with anticipation.”

Thorin let out a soft laugh, and then began his tale: “So I would’ve been about twenty-four at the time, and me and my brother, Frerin, organised Vili’s stag weekend in this little town in northern France… Somewhere near Calais, I can’t even remember its name… or why the hell we decided to go there in the first place. Anyway, it seemed like a really good idea at the time, despite the fact that none of us spoke a word of French.”

Bilbo chuckled at that, although his eyes remained closed as he listened.

“And what we didn’t realise, was that we'd turned up in this tourist town out of season, so we wandered around for ages, trying to find somewhere to drink, until we stumbled on this club… but it had like a medieval slit in the door with the bouncers on the other side. We were all fairly merry by this point, having drunk several cans of cheap booze on the way, and they weren’t going to let us in… So I pushed my way to the front of the group and…”

Thorin had to stop himself as he remembered the sheer stupidity of that night, but after regaining himself enough to talk, he continued: “In my best posh London accent, I tried to convince these French bouncers that our group had Prince William with us, but that it was a secret, and could we please come in so we could hide from the paparazzi?”

Thorin could feel Bilbo shaking with silent laughter against his chest, and this only spurred him on.

“Thinking that this was a genius plan, everyone joined in… So you’ve got a dozen Yorkshire men speaking in exaggerated southern accents, all talking about polo and Buckingham Palace.”

“Did they let you in?” Bilbo asked, and Thorin could hear the smile in his voice.

“Of course they didn’t,” Thorin grinned. “They sent us stupid, drunken gits on our way… We still couldn’t find a pub, so we picked up more beer from a supermarket and… Okay, so we found this roundabout, and it’s got an old fishing boat on it with a sign-post stuck in the middle of the boat… and we, er, all piled into it and started singing and waving and yelling at any unfortunate cars that drove past.”

“Oh, Thorin,” Bilbo said, with an affectionate laugh, cuddling closer to him.

“I haven’t told you the worst part yet,” Thorin sighed. “Whilst we were singing and just being generally very obnoxious drunks, I realised that you could pick the sign-post up and turn it round… So, I, er, did… Turned the sign-post round so all the signs were pointing in the wrong direction and I… I never put it back… As far as I know the sign-post is still like that, sending poor unfortunate tourists on the wrong road back to Calais.”

“You should go back one day and check,” Bilbo mumbled, starting to sound sleepy.

Thorin wrapped an arm around Bilbo’s waist, trying to ignore the fact that his first thought was returning to France with Bilbo by his side… but then he supposed seeing that as an impossibility also wasn’t the right attitude to have.

“It’s definitely on my to-do list,” Thorin smiled. “Would you like to hear about the wedding reception…? I’m starting to realise I seem to have a lot of material which involves my drunken antics.”

Bilbo hummed an affirmative into his chest, and so Thorin began this second story.

He was just getting onto the part about performing the Macarena on a table when Fili appeared in Bilbo’s doorway. She mouthed ‘hello’ and then crept to her uncle’s side. Thorin wondered at her silent movements, but then one glance down confirmed that Bilbo was sound asleep against his chest, his mouth open slightly, sending periodic hot bursts of breath into his t-shirt.

Thorin turned himself slowly so that he could see Fili better, doing his best not to jostle Bilbo and wake him. “Hi,” he greeted, in a whisper.

“I’m just about to head off,” Fili replied, her voice equally quiet. Her eyes swept over Thorin and Bilbo and she seemed unable to contain her grin. “I was just wondering about this evening’s visiting hours… Do you think you might be up for seeing Kili?”

Dis had been keeping her youngest away whilst Thorin navigated the devastating aftermath of Thursday morning, but now he felt he was finally ready to see his nephew again, and, more than anything, he truly missed Kili and felt terrible for excluding him for the past few days.

“I’d really like that,” he answered honestly.

Fili’s grin only widened. “He’ll be over the moon… Okay, you get some rest, and I’ll see you soon.”

“Thank you, Fili,” Thorin murmured, and there was so much contained in it.

He was about to disentangle one arm from the bed sheets so he could at least give his niece a kind of parting hug, but then Fili leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead. “Rest,” she urged, before squeezing his shoulder, and then she was sneaking back out of the room.

Thorin watched her leave, realising, not for the first time, that Fili had most definitely grown older and wiser in the months that he had known her.

 

…

 

Warm, soft fingertips were slowly stroking down his jaw, over his cheeks and his chin. Thorin’s eyes fluttered open, and he peered blearily before him, blinking until Bilbo’s face settled into focus. The younger man was studying him with bright green-grey eyes.

“Morning,” Thorin mumbled, his throat feeling scratchy with sleep as he drew Bilbo closer to him.

Bilbo let out a soft snort. “Not quite,” he said gently. “It’s almost six o’ clock… in the evening.”

Thorin blinked at Bilbo again, and slowly his mind pieced together the events of that afternoon. He didn’t remember falling asleep, but he supposed he must have actually slept for at least three hours.

“Oh,” he said, adding a lot to the conversation as usual. He kissed Bilbo’s finger as it moved past his lips. “Did you sleep okay?”

“I got a good couple of hours,” Bilbo replied, before adding a murmured ‘thank you’.

Thorin smiled at that, his hand reaching up to take Bilbo’s.

“Faramir is here with Dain,” Bilbo said, after a pause. “They’re just waiting for you to come round.”

“Oh,” Thorin said, the few hours’ sleep obviously making him a master of eloquence that evening. He moved to sit up in the bed, rubbing at his eyes. He then turned to Bilbo, who had also pulled himself into a sitting position. “Would you mind if Faramir brought Dain in here? I can go back to my room if you’d rather he didn’t.”

“No, no, of course not,” Bilbo said quickly. “I… I have missed Dain.”

Thorin sensed there was quite a lot lurking behind this proclamation, but he decided not to push Bilbo on the subject. It was then that he saw Bilbo catch Rosie’s eye at the nurses’ station and give her a thumbs up. The nurse grinned, disappearing from sight, and it wasn’t long before Faramir entered the room with Dain trotting at his side. As expected, the Labrador let out a yelp of delight as soon as he clocked Thorin and was instantly scrambling to try and get up onto the bed. Faramir obliged and carefully lifted him into Thorin’s lap, so that he could snuffle at his neck and face, giving him several welcoming licks for good measure.

“Hello, Mister,” Thorin said fondly, giving Dain’s ears a good scratch. “Have you been behaving yourself?”

“Oh, he’s been an absolute star,” Faramir said, with similar fondness. “We’ve just finished up with a new bit of training and he’s taking it all in his stride.”

“Really?” Thorin replied approvingly, and Dain licked his nose. “Aren’t you a clever boy?”

Cooing at Dain might have sounded ridiculous, but it was certainly making him feel better, and seeing Bilbo smiling at them both only increased the giddy feelings.

“Go and say hello to Bilbo,” Thorin urged, gently nudging the Labrador over in Bilbo’s direction. “Give him a big cuddle for me.”

Dain eagerly clambered over Thorin’s knees and went to settle himself in front of Bilbo, who began to run his fingers through the thick fur of Dain’s neck before giving him a quick peck on the nose. Beside himself at this, the Labrador gave Bilbo’s nose a slobbery kiss in return.

“I’ve, er, got a card for you from the lads at Support Group,” Faramir said, drawing Thorin’s attention away from Bilbo and Dain.

“Oh, right,” Thorin replied, trying to keep his tone even as he accepted the envelope from Faramir.

There had been a strict no-card policy enforced by him since he was readmitted, but he knew the group meant well. He carefully opened the envelope and pulled the card out, and then choked on a breath. This was not the usual floral ‘Get Well Soon’ card… This card had a 1960s style picture of a grinning doctor in a white coat giving a thumbs up, and written underneath in large red letters was: ‘I have your diagnosis… You’re a wanker!’

“I think they’re trying to tell me something,” Thorin smirked, opening the card.

“Well, you know the boys don’t go in for anything sentimental or wordy… Wait until you read their messages.”

Inside the card each member of the support group had written a message, which turned out to be dirty jokes ranging from the very rude to the very explicit. It was clear that the group knew Thorin didn’t want their sympathy, and they were just doing their best to cheer him up.

The centre message read: ‘To Thorin, Get your arse back to Support Group before Graham steals all the biscuits!’ This mention of Graham sent his chest twinging a little again and he searched out the grey-haired man’s message… but it was the same as all the others, with no indication of how he had taken Bilbo’s suicide attempt. Instead a joke, a little shorter than the rest, was written: ‘A nun is taking a bath when someone knocks at the door. She asks who it is, and the person says, "The blind man." So she thinks it's safe to let him come into the bathroom. The man enters the room and says, "Nice tits. Where do you want me to hang the blind?"’

Thorin was unable to stop himself chuckling, and when he saw Bilbo looking over he passed him the card.

“I’ll be back to pick Dain up around nine, if that’s alright?” Faramir asked, clearly wanting to give Thorin and Bilbo their space.

“That’s fine,” Thorin confirmed, as Dain leaned over and began to snuffle at his hands.

“Right, well I’ll be off, see you both this evening.”

Faramir gave Dain an affectionate pat, and then took his leave of them. There were a few moments of silence and Thorin and Bilbo took it in turns to coddle the excited Labrador, then Thorin said quietly: “Kili is coming to visit me this evening… Would you prefer it if he came to my room?”

Bilbo’s posture stiffened slightly. “If you don’t mind?” came his quiet reply. “I’m just not sure I’m ready to… Well, to see him just yet.”

“I understand,” Thorin said, taking Bilbo’s hand beneath the bedcovers.

He didn’t have time to offer any more words of comfort before Rosie came striding into the room. She had swapped her jeans and jacket for her familiar blue scrubs and she entered with a glint in her eyes, clutching a notepad and pencil. Thorin raised a curious eyebrow.

“Welcome to Chez Ered Luin, my name’s Rosie and I’ll be your server this evening… Can I get you two fine gentlemen something to drink?”

Bilbo chuckled, but it took Thorin a little longer to cotton onto the fact that it was actually time for them to order their evening meal from the kitchens.

“A bottle of the House Red should do the trick,” Bilbo replied, with an infectious grin.

“So that’s two orange juices…” Rosie scribbled on the pad. “Okay, we’ve got two options on the menu tonight: freshly-caught haddock in a crisp batter with twice-cooked chips, or the chef’s special: British-grown vegetable lasagna with a thick, three-cheese sauce, served with garlic focaccia.”

Thorin stared at Rosie, trying to wade through the information dump, and Bilbo squeezed his hand.

“I think that’s two fish and chips, thank you, Rosie,” Bilbo said, with an amused smirk.

“Very good, Sir, I’ll get your order into the kitchens right now.”

And with that Rosie was gone again. Thorin couldn’t help the smile the nurse had left in her wake. He guessed she and Bilbo still had a lot of talking to do, but this little comedy routine seemed to be her way of extending the olive branch. Bilbo turned to him, also unable to hide a smile.

“So…” Thorin said, sliding his arm around Bilbo. “Does this count as our third date?”

 

…

 

Thorin slipped the rather outrageous ‘Get Well’ card back into its envelope and placed it in his bedside drawer, which he slid shut, hiding the card from view: he wasn’t sure Dis would forgive him if Kili discovered it.

It was strange, being back in this room, thinking that only a few hours ago he had been trying to tear it apart. It felt like being on the other side of a void, having made it safely across, but still wobbling a little on the edge. He was still living in the moments of ‘after’, but rather than pressing his hands against the glass, yearning for the other side, he was slowly turning himself around, his eyes searching out the path that would lead him into the time beyond.

He had enjoyed eating a quiet dinner with Bilbo, even though both of them could only manage about a third of their meal. Neither had commented at the other’s efforts, but he supposed they understood the lack of appetite as they slowly and steadily grew back together.

Leaving Bilbo to return to his short-stay room had been difficult. Bilbo seemed almost scared that he wouldn’t be coming back; equally Thorin hated the idea of leaving him on his own. It had taken about half an hour of whispered reassurances and gentle touches to manoeuvre both of them into a position where they felt comfortable parting.

Dain nudged at his hands, and Thorin smiled, giving the Labrador an appreciative stroke, letting him snuggle up against his legs. He had changed his clothes, knowing Dis would clock the sweat stains and odour before she was even buzzed through the ward doors, and now he felt as ready as he ever would be to greet his nephew.

“Which room is it, Mum?” a familiar voice yelled out in the corridor.

“Number 7, love, it’s got your uncle’s name on it,” came Dis’ reply.

Thorin had just swung his legs over the bed, Dain moving to sit at his side, when Kili bounded into the room, his brown eyes wide and full of light.

“Uncle Thorin!”

Kili as good as threw himself at Thorin, who opened his arms wide and swung Kili up onto the bed with him. “It’s good to see you, mate.”

“I’ve missed you so much!” Kili said earnestly, keeping his arms wrapped tightly around Thorin’s neck.

“I’ve missed you too,” Thorin replied, glancing up to see Dis and Balin enter the room.

“Let your uncle breathe, Kili,” Dis said, with good-natured chiding, as she moved around the bed to give Thorin a quick kiss on the cheek.

“Sorry!” Kili almost sang as he pulled away, his attentions now drawn by Dain, who received an equally enthusiastic hug.

“Good evening, laddie,” Balin said, dark eyes twinkling as he gave Thorin’s shoulder a squeeze before sitting himself down in the chair at his bedside.

“Dwalin and Fili not with you?” Thorin asked, trying to sound casual. He wondered if his Scottish cousins were still at war with each other.

“No, Dwalin’s taken Fili to the cinema,” Dis answered, her tone a little careful.

Ah. Balin’s silence implied there was probably still some tension there, but he was glad Fili was doing something to take her mind off everything and spending some time away from the hospital.

“But don’t worry,” Dis added. “I’ve told him if Fili magically acquires another tattoo this evening I’m going to remove a particular part of his anatomy with a rusty kitchen implement.”

Thorin snorted at that, and he heard Balin give a soft chuckle.

“Which part?” Kili asked seriously, an eyebrow raised as he snuggled back into Thorin.

“His nose, darling,” Dis replied dryly.

“Oh.” Kili seemed completely unfazed. “Mum, can I give Uncle Thorin his cards now?”

“Of course,” Dis smiled, reaching down to her handbag and producing two hand-made cards. “Here you go, love.”

“I made this for you in my Art lesson on Friday,” Kili explained, handing Thorin the first card, and it put an instant grin on Thorin’s face.

Kili had drawn an immediately recognisable Freddie Mercury in his yellow jacket and signature pose with his fist raised in the air. He had cut around Freddie’s figure so that the card was uniquely shaped like the singer. The yellow jacket was outlined in gold glitter and the lines down his white trousers were drawn in red glitter.

“This is amazing, Kili,” Thorin said, ruffling his nephew’s mop of dark hair. “Did you trace the drawing?”

Kili didn’t quite manage to hide his expression of offence. “No, I drew it from my memory… It’s like the poster that used to be on your wall.”

Thorin grinned, once again reminded never to underestimate Kili. “So it is, and it’s brilliant!”

He opened the card, seeing Kili had written a heartfelt ‘get well soon’ message in his neatest handwriting… and Thorin couldn’t find one spelling mistake. Feeling the giddy feelings swelling in his chest, he wrapped one arm around Kili, who instantly snuggled closer to him.

“Thanks, mate,” he said warmly.

“I made Uncle Bilbo a card too,” Kili said, sounding hesitant. He collected the second card from the bed and gave it to Thorin. “I asked my History teacher to check it, and he says it’s all accurate… I didn’t want Uncle Bilbo to think I’d forgotten everything he taught me.”

Bilbo’s card was shaped like a medieval castle, the battlements across the top of the card were cut out to give it the perfect silhouette, and each part of the castle was neatly labelled. Thorin realised Kili had been referring to the homework he and Bilbo had completed together.

“And there’s more if you open it,” Kili prompted, still sounding a little nervous.

Opening the card, Thorin’s eyes widened. Kili had also labelled the inside of the castle, which was drawn in beautiful detail: there was the chapel, with its stained glass windows, the stables, the kitchens, and the banquet hall, which was at the centre of the card. There was a flag hanging on one of the walls, and on it Kili had written: ‘To Uncle Bilbo, I hope you feel better soon, because I still like you better than my History teacher and you definitely know more. Love, Kili xx’.

“He’s going to love this card, Kili, you can see how much effort you’ve put into it,” Thorin said, hoping to reassure his nephew. “I’ll make sure he gets it.”

Kili shifted on the bed, and Thorin didn’t miss the way he glanced at Dis, as if expecting to  be reprimanded. “Is Uncle Bilbo still really poorly?”

Thorin reached for Dain and realised far too late that Kili would have very probably picked up on the gesture, but he didn’t comment, just stared up at his uncle with obvious concern. Dis and Balin had both leaned forwards in their chairs, ready to intervene, but Thorin was determined to do this on his own.

“He… He’s doing a bit better today,” he said quietly. “The doctors decided he’s well enough to be back in his old room, so he moved up onto the ward this morning… and I even made him smile a few times.”

Kili’s expression brightened. “That’s good! What did you do to make him smile?”

“I told him a few stories you can’t hear until you’re older,” Thorin grinned, giving Kili a nudge.

Dis and Balin relaxed again, and then Balin was reaching into his own bag and producing a wad of papers. “That reminds me, actually… As Kili’s told me all about Bilbo helping him with his homework, I thought he might have a look at some of mine.” He patted the papers in his lap. “Just a few journal articles I’m not quite happy with… Do you think the nurses would be able to pass them on for me?”

“Of course,” Thorin replied, about to reach out his hand, but then Balin got to his feet.

“I’ll just pop down to the nurses’ station with them,” he said, with a knowing look in his blue eyes.

Thorin realised Balin was intending to hand them over in person, and he was glad Bilbo was getting a visit tonight. He knew he’d be beside himself at the opportunity to help Balin with his academic work, and that thought made Thorin smile to himself.

“Uncle Thorin, if you’re not too tired, would you like to do some reading with me?” Kili asked, breaking Thorin from his own musings.

“Oh, er, I’m not too tired,” he said, turning back to Kili. “What book are we reading?”

“It’s called _Skellig_ ,” Kili replied. “I only got it out of the library yesterday because Miss Silvan says they don’t teach it to Year 8 anymore, but it’s really good!”

Thorin had no idea what a ‘skellig’ was, but he was more than willing to give it a try. “Right, let’s get comfy then.”

They stood the cards up on the bedside table and Dain curled up at Thorin’s side, with Kili slotting himself in at the other. Holding the book between them, Kili began to read with his usual enthusiasm. His nephew’s excited voice filling his ears, Thorin sneaked a glance at Dis, who was watching them with a smile full of such love it made his whole body still for a moment. He then studiously looked away, pretending not to see his sister reach up and discreetly wipe at her eyes.

That day Thorin had been ripped apart and put back together again. It wasn’t the first time, and he knew it may not be the last, but for now he was content to sit with his family and look to the future, knowing the other parts of his family were together, with Dwalin and Fili enjoying some carefree time, and Bilbo and Balin losing themselves in the past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See, told you! I can still do fluff! Did... Did I do good, guys? Do you forgive me yet? 
> 
> I would also like to thank my dad and my uncle for their stag do stories which I stole – all that did really happen, about seventeen years ago when my uncle got married. My mum is mortified that I’ve published their antics on the internet, but my dad still finds the whole thing hilarious. 
> 
> P.S. Apparently the sign in the boat was eventually changed back, but it took about ten years.


	38. Chapter 38

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are a few wobbles. 
> 
> BUT before you all start forming a mob, there is also some very important progress (VIP?) in this chapter!
> 
> Warning: The first scene features vomiting and there is a panic attack after the first section break. If anyone would like a trigger-free summary of the chapter, please do let me know.

After straightening out his blankets and rearranging various items – including Kili’s card and the recently restored statue of Ganesh – on his windowsill, Thorin moved around his bed, ready to make the short journey back to Bilbo’s room, but he found his exit blocked by Dr. Grey, who had silently appeared in the doorway.

“Good evening, Thorin,” the doctor said pleasantly, stepping into the room.

Thorin lowered his head in a wordless greeting, trying not to narrow his eyes at Dr. Grey, who only ever seemed to appear when he had ulterior motives, none of which he was partial to sharing with his patients until they had figured them out for themselves.

“I wonder if you would kindly return to your bed for a few moments, so I may write up your obs before you and Bilbo settle down for the night?” Dr. Grey enquired, with a soft smile as he gestured to the bed.

With a short nod, Thorin stepped back and sat on his bed, swinging his legs up and lying down against the pillows. After bidding Dis, Kili, and Balin goodnight, Thorin had also said goodbye to Dain, who had been collected by Faramir not long after. Disliking the encroaching silence of his temporary home, his natural response had been to seek out Bilbo again.

Thorin’s eyes followed the doctor as he went to the hand gel dispenser by the sink and rubbed the clear gel into his long, pale fingers. Thorin knew his obs and checks were usually carried out by the nurses and occasional junior, and so he wondered what had brought the doctor to his room tonight… Of course, he had a fair few reasons in mind. He also thought he should possibly be angry about Dr. Grey’s presumption that he would be spending the night with Bilbo, but, as ever, the doctor was right about Thorin’s intentions.

“If you could take some slow, deep breaths for me,” Dr. Grey said gently, as he placed his stethoscope into his ears. “I’m just going to have a little listen to your chest.”

Thorin straightened himself out on the bed, arms at his sides, and, deciding not to fight the doctor on something as trivial as breathing, proceeded to draw in a breath, exhaling carefully. The chest piece of the stethoscope was slipped under his t-shirt and he winced as the cool metal slid over his skin… He never was going to get used to that.

Dr. Grey made several approving hums as he adjusted the chest piece. “And how is your chest feeling now? Any pain?”

“It aches a bit,” Thorin answered quietly, avoiding the doctor’s gaze and staring instead at the bronze idol by the window: from this distance, he couldn’t see the break in Ganesh’s trunk where Beorn had superglued the broken pieces back together. “But it’s not as bad as before.”

The doctor nodded, withdrawing the chest piece and draping the stethoscope back around his neck. Thorin studied him, wondering if he knew the real cause of the horrible pain that had hacked his heart in two: a condition that couldn’t be heard by a stethoscope to his chest… or could it? Thorin furrowed his brow at the thought, but, either way, the smile on Dr. Grey’s lips as he rooted through a low cupboard indicated that he did know the pain’s origin, and that the wound, like the cuts on his knuckles and the graze on his knee, was slowly beginning to heal.

“We’ll check your blood pressure and your heart-rate, and then I shan’t detain you any further,” Dr. Grey said calmly, as Thorin held out his arm for the dark blue cuff.

The doctor adeptly wrapped the cuff in one smooth movement and then guided Thorin’s arm back down onto the bed. Thorin tried not to twitch as the cuff tightened, and instead he looked up at Dr. Grey, deciding it was time to ask the question before the doctor himself found some obscene way to drop it into conversation.

“When am I being discharged?” Thorin murmured, feeling an ache begin to sprout in his stomach.

Dr. Grey was quiet for a few moments, before answering steadily: “I would like to keep you under observation for another forty-eight hours.”

Thorin did the mental calculation and then turned a glare on the doctor. “You’re not discharging me on Bilbo’s birthday,” he stated, a definite edge in his voice.

Dr. Grey’s expression remained neutral as he studied the digital screen on the blood pressure monitor. “Ah, your blood pressure is perhaps a little higher than it should be; I think we may need to extend that to at least seventy-two hours observation.”

There was a twinkle in the doctor’s eyes as he removed the cuff from Thorin’s arm and produced an oximeter seemingly from mid-air, which he promptly attached to Thorin’s finger. Thorin turned away, gaze moving to the ceiling, and he tried to keep his breathing steady. He wondered if he should tell Dr. Grey what Bilbo had said about not wanting to celebrate another birthday… it was just one more sign Thorin had missed, and now he wondered how Bilbo would feel, turning thirty-three on the ward when he had been so determined not to age another day. These thoughts were making black, sickly feelings crawl up from his stomach, and so he swallowed, breathing deeply, trying to push them back into the abyss.

“A very healthy heart-rate,” Dr. Grey declared, unclipping the oximeter, and he seemed to have amused himself with some kind of inside joke, which Thorin ignored. “Now, I believe Bilbo is waiting for you.”

Thorin thought it would be petulant to point out that he was well aware of this and Dr. Grey’s appearance had, in fact, prevented an earlier return, and so he only nodded again, rising from the bed. At first, the doctor seemed to be waiting to accompany him down the corridor, but then he suddenly disappeared from the room in the opposite direction. Probably off to detain some other poor sod, Thorin thought and narrowly avoided saying out loud. Left alone again, Thorin exhaled steadily, collected Kili’s castle card from his bedside table, and then set off towards Bilbo’s room.

He found the younger man sitting in bed, but not waiting expectantly for him: Bilbo’s attentions were certainly elsewhere as Thorin entered the room. His over-bed table had been pulled up to act as a sort of desk, and the surface was covered in papers, which Thorin recognised to be the ones Balin had said he would pass on. Thorin gave a soft cough as he came to a stop at the end of the bed, and Bilbo’s head shot up.

“Oh,” he said in surprise, setting down his pencil. “Thorin, I’m so sorry, I didn’t…”

Thorin only grinned as Bilbo trailed off, the hint of a beautiful colour appearing in his cheeks. The dark feelings which had been stirring in his stomach were now replaced with a giddiness he thought long lost… It was wonderful, seeing Bilbo so engrossed in something.

“So, is my cousin’s work beyond help?” Thorin asked wryly, perching on the edge of the bed.

Bilbo shuffled over to give Thorin more space. “Oh, not at all,” he replied, lifting the page before him with a sort of reverence. “It’s fascinating, reading these early drafts… There’s a sort of rawness to it, seeing an academic’s argument in its earliest stages… And Balin has this habit of slipping into Scots Gaelic when he’s getting really passionate about something… I’m not sure what half of the words mean, but it’s still a beautiful language…”

Thorin slipped his arm around Bilbo’s waist. “Should I be worried?” he asked, with an amused smile.

“What?” Bilbo turned to him with a frown.

“About you ditching me for Balin,” Thorin clarified.

Bilbo’s frown only deepened. “Of course not! Thorin, I –”

Thorin interrupted Bilbo with a chuckle, and then leaned down to kiss the crinkles between his eyes. “That was a joke, Bilbo.”

“Oh,” came a murmured response, before Bilbo smiled too.

“But you do have several fans in the Oakenshield family,” Thorin said, presenting Kili’s card to Bilbo, whose eyes instantly widened.

“Kili… made this?” Bilbo asked, the reverence returning to his tone. “For me?”

Bilbo slowly opened the card, his eyes scanning the intricate labels, before coming to rest on the message in the centre.

“He remembered everything that you taught him,” Thorin said quietly. “He thinks you’re wonderful, you know.”

Thorin’s voice caught a little as he spoke: he didn’t want to lay it on too thick, just how much Bilbo was truly adored by his family. He knew Bilbo was still in the early stages of adjusting the view he had of himself, and he didn’t want to make him uncomfortable… but still he hoped Bilbo knew, even if he wasn’t ready to accept it, that he was loved.

“He’s got such an eye for detail,” Bilbo whispered, and his eyes were shining as his finger traced the torch brackets that were painted onto the walls of the banquet hall. “And there are things on here we didn’t discuss, so he must have done his own research.”

“I’m sure he did,” Thorin smiled, giving Bilbo’s shoulder a squeeze… and then the younger man suddenly went rigid.

Bilbo carefully set the card down on the table in front of him and straightened up, the colour draining from his face.

“Bilbo?” Thorin’s heart began knocking into his ribs. “Bilbo…? What’s –”

Suddenly scrambling from the bed, Bilbo threw himself at his sink just in time to begin emptying the contents of his stomach with violent, shuddering heaves. Thorin dragged himself across the bed and came to his side, feeling the breaths getting lodged in his throat. But this wasn’t a time to panic. He wasn’t going to panic, not when Bilbo needed him.

The younger man was clutching the enamel basin, sweat beginning to bead on his white forehead, and the tears slipped down his face, dangling from the tip of his nose. Bilbo lurched forward again, continuing to throw up the meal they had shared that evening, and his face became contorted with pain… and so Thorin forced himself to act, knowing he had been standing there being useless for at least thirty seconds too long already.

It was with a pang deep inside his chest that he remembered the night before his first escorted leave, when he had been heaving at this very sink in the early hours of the morning. What had Bilbo done? He had rubbed his back and touched his arm and wiped his mouth. Moving forward, Thorin lifted a hand to Bilbo’s back and began to draw circles there with his palm.

“Shhh,” he soothed. “It’s okay… You’re okay…”

Bilbo sagged a little towards him, closing his eyes, but then he made a horrible noise in the back of his throat and vomited again. Thorin leaned forward and reached out with his other hand, stroking the sweaty curls from Bilbo’s forehead and keeping them out of his eyes as he hunched forward.

“It’s just your new medication,” Thorin said softly, pressing a kiss to Bilbo’s shoulder, rubbing slower circles into his back. “You’ll feel better soon, I promise.”

“Okay there, Thorin?”

Thorin glanced over his shoulder without adjusting his position supporting Bilbo, and found Poppy and another nurse had entered the room. He gave a stiff nod, moving with Bilbo as the younger man gave a dryer heave and there was a splattering sound as he spat into the sink.

“You’re both doing great,” Poppy said, a little louder so she knew Bilbo could hear. She then joined the other nurse in collecting together Balin’s papers and moving the table so it would be easier for Bilbo to return to the bed when he was ready.

Thorin stroked his hand across Bilbo’s brow again as he stared into the sink with tired, grey eyes. He drew in a trembling breath, and then choked, tensing as he coughed up more bile, and then he suddenly slammed his hand down on the sink, letting out a snarl of frustration.

“Hey,” Thorin said, a little sharper than he had intended, and so he softened his voice. “Hey,” he said again. “Don’t do that… You don’t need to do that… We’re okay… We’ll be alright…”

The words all seemed nonsensical at this point, they were just stock phrases people seemed to use, and had used with Thorin fairly frequently, and so he just stuck to the script, slowly winding his arms around Bilbo as he stilled, pressing his nose into the curls at Bilbo’s neck.

“See, we’re doing better,” Thorin breathed, unsure why he had started using the plural pronoun, but supposing it was because he and Bilbo were in this together, as they always had been from the start.

Bilbo had stopped heaving now, and was just making miserable sniffling sounds, so Thorin reached around him and turned on the hot tap. He knew what was sitting in the sink was going to take some shifting, so instead he focused on wetting a flannel and wringing it out with one hand, just as Bilbo had done all that time ago.

Moving around to Bilbo’s side again, Thorin gently wiped his mouth, then washed the flannel under the warm water before lifting it up to Bilbo’s brow, dabbing at the pale skin. Bilbo closed his eyes, swaying a little, resting his weight on Thorin as he wiped his face and neck.

“Much better,” Thorin said approvingly. “Would you like to lie down?”

Bilbo gave his answer by sagging into him even further, and so Thorin carefully steered them away from the sink. Poppy had made up Bilbo’s bed again and was just setting two cups of water down on the bedside table. Bilbo seemed very reluctant to move anywhere on his own, his body getting heavier in Thorin’s arms, his limbs weighed down with exhaustion, and so Thorin manoeuvred them both onto the bed. He shuffled into Bilbo’s pillows, letting the younger man lean back against his chest, his head resting on his shoulder. Thorin silently told himself off for the very inappropriate euphemisms that sprang to his mind about Bilbo being between his legs for the first time… He really had spent too much time around Radagast.

“Okay?” Thorin said, his nose nudging against Bilbo’s cheek.

Bilbo made a quiet sound, which Thorin took as an affirmative.

“Can I get you anything, Bilbo?” Poppy asked, from her place at the foot of the bed, whilst the other nurse dealt with his sink.

Bilbo shifted only slightly in Thorin’s arms. “Shot of Tequila,” he mumbled.

Poppy returned a warm smile. “I’m afraid water is the only clear liquid I can offer you, but you’re allowed as many shots of that as you want.”

Bilbo grumbled something inaudible and closed his eyes. Taking this as her cue to leave, Poppy mouthed a ‘well done’ at Thorin, and then headed back out onto the ward with the other nurse following swiftly behind her.

They were still and silent for a few moments, and then Thorin reached over to the bedside table and retrieved a plastic cup of water, pushing it gently into Bilbo’s hands. He waited whilst Bilbo took slow sips, and when he brought the almost empty cup down to rest in his lap, Thorin collected it and placed it back on the table.

“How’s your stomach feeling now?” he murmured.

“Sore,” came Bilbo’s reply.

“Hmm.” Bilbo’s hoodie was unzipped, and so Thorin carefully slid his large hands over Bilbo’s stomach, hoping to warm it through the thin fabric of his pyjama top and offer some relief.

Bilbo let out a sigh. “Personal hot water bottle,” he said, and Thorin could hear the smile, even though he couldn’t see it.

“Glad to know I have some uses,” Thorin grinned.

There was a soft hum, and then the two fell into silence again. Thorin was starting to think Bilbo might have fallen asleep when he heard him say softly: “I’m sorry.”

In the time of Before, Thorin would have shushed Bilbo and moved on, but now he knew Bilbo was very probably beating himself up over something he couldn’t control, over inconveniencing Thorin in any way. He knew Bilbo would be chalking this up as another ‘selfish act’, and so he wasn’t going to let this one slide.

“Now, we’ll have none of that,” Thorin said firmly, kissing Bilbo’s neck. “This isn’t your fault, Bilbo, and I’m glad I was here to help you… You know adjusting to new meds is crap, but at least you didn’t try to do a runner from a secure psychiatric ward.”

“Well,” Bilbo said, patting Thorin’s hand. “I think you’ll find we both did that, actually, and were quite successful on our second attempts.”

Thorin gave a soft laugh, letting Bilbo twine their fingers together. It came to him only a few seconds later that ‘Operation Espresso’ had set off a chain of events that had led to him being an inpatient once more, with Bilbo in his arms, with bandages wrapped around his wrists. His heart throbbed painfully, and he screwed up his eyes, praying that this revelation wouldn’t bring back the terrible ache… And then he stopped himself and drew in a slow breath.

He knew that every so often – and quite frequently for the time being - he was going to be reminded of what had happened, but he couldn’t let the pain back in. He had to be able to move forward: for himself, and for Bilbo. Wounds took their time to heal, but there was no use ripping this one open again.

“Thorin?” Bilbo said, his voice small, with a trace of fear… He had clearly figured out the direction of Thorin’s thoughts.

And so Thorin squeezed Bilbo’s hand and held him tighter. “I love you,” he said, nosing at Bilbo’s curls again. 

It was the first time Thorin had said it since Bilbo had brought a scissor blade to his skin, and he wished he could say it over and over again until the words had wrapped themselves around Bilbo’s wrists, around his heart, around his mind.

Bilbo was quiet for a long time, and Thorin was starting to get frustrated that he couldn’t see his face, when he spoke: “You… do? … Still?”

Thorin shifted them then, moving Bilbo a little closer to his right knee, so he could see him properly… and he wasn’t very happy with the confused look on Bilbo’s face. “Of course I do,” he said gently, leaning his forehead against Bilbo’s.

“I thought…” Bilbo began, frowning. “I thought… after everything… it might be a while before you… I mean, you said you were angry so…”

Thorin wasn’t used to Bilbo being this ineloquent, but he pushed his consternation to the back of his mind as he shushed him, hooking a finger under the younger man’s chin.

“Bilbo,” he replied, making sure he was looking at him. “Just because I’m angry, doesn’t mean I don’t love you… And I suppose I’m not all that angry anymore… But I do need us to work on some things… together.”

Thorin was aware that he was in danger of mirroring Bilbo’s ineloquence, and so he decided it was best to get to the point: “I do love you, Bilbo. I love you so much, and nothing is going to change that.”

Bilbo stared up at him with a tearful smile, and he moved his hands up to Thorin’s chest. “I love you too,” he whispered.

Thorin leaned down and pulled Bilbo’s lips closer to his with the finger under his chin. Their mouths had only brushed against each other when Bilbo was pulling away, looking mildly mortified.

“Thorin… I… I’ve just thrown up…”

“Don’t care,” Thorin muttered. “Need to kiss you.”

This time Bilbo didn’t protest, and he let Thorin pull his lips back against his own into a soft, tender kiss.

 

…

 

Letting out a sigh, Thorin turned over in the bed, slowly becoming aware of the waking world. No sunlight made him squint, and his eyes were greeted only with darkness as he opened them, blinking away the haziness of sleep. The bedsheets wrapped around him were warm and comforting, but still his hand searched out another source of comfort, his fingers sliding across the mattress… and they kept sliding and sliding until Thorin’s arm was completely outstretched.

Bilbo was gone.

It was as if a bucket of icy water had been thrown over him, and Thorin bolted up in the bed, feeling his heart hammering in his chest and nothing but wind rushing in his ears.

_Oh God, no, please, God, no, no, nononononono…_

The room was dark and empty, with sterile light flooding in through the half-closed door.

And Thorin was alone.

“Bilbo!” he gasped out, lurching from the bed and almost falling to the floor. He gave a couple of violent kicks to free himself from the sheets that had wrapped themselves around his ankle, and staggered to the door, his chest suddenly feeling tight, claws closing around his lungs again, preparing to shred them to bleeding ribbons.

_No, this isn’t happening, no, not again, no, no, no…_

Throwing open the door, he lifted a shaking hand to try and keep the blinding light from his eyes as he lumbered forward.

“Thorin?” Beorn turned away from the nurses’ station computer and came to meet him.

“Bilbo!” Thorin cried, feeling his throat closing up, and bright blue spots were flashing in the periphery of his vision. “He… He’s gone… We have to… to find him… Please…”

“It’s alright,” Beorn said calmly, large hands reaching out towards him, but Thorin stumbled back, letting out a snarl of frustration… Why couldn’t he move faster? Why wasn’t anyone reacting…?

“N-No!” Thorin stammered, his lungs shrinking inside his chest. “Bilbo… We have –”

There was a flash of black and the whole world disappeared, and when Thorin opened his eyes again, he was on his hands and knees, gasping for breath.

“Okay, Thorin, we’re just going to lie you down.”

Thorin jerked away as a hand touched his shoulder, the action making his lungs ache, and he found Haldir crouched next to him.

“Okay, okay,” the junior doctor said, his voice softer than Thorin had ever heard it before, and he held his hands up in a placating gesture. “I’m not going to touch you, but will you let Nurse Virke help you lie down so we can get your breathing under control?”

Thorin managed a nod, and then enormous hands were slowly guiding him to lie down on his side on the cool, hard floor. He needed to breathe… Why couldn’t he breathe…?

“B-Bilbo…!” The name struggled from Thorin’s lips, his whole chest feeling as if it was on fire.

A thin pillow was placed beneath his head, and then Beorn’s hand was on his shoulder again.

“Little Bunny is fine,” Beorn said, his voice deep and low as he gently laid a blanket over him. “He went to the toilet, that is all.”

Thorin choked on a breath that could have also been a cry. Bilbo was alright…? Then where the hell was he?

“Bilbo, Thorin needs you.”

That was Haldir’s voice, sounding from somewhere beyond the nurses’ station. Thorin tried to twist his head, but his body felt as if it was made of stone, and all he could see was the expanse of cold, blue-grey floor stretching out before him.

“I’ll make it worse,” came Bilbo’s strained reply, and Thorin’s heart swelled with relief.

Bilbo was alright. Bilbo was fine, and he was over-reacting… Everything was okay… But then why was he still having trouble breathing? Thorin tried to draw in a breath, but as soon as he had filled his lungs with air it felt as if a foot was stamping all the air back out again, and he let out a horrible choking sound. It looked like his panic attack had decided it would be going ahead anyway.

“Bilbo, please will you go and lie down next to your boyfriend?” Haldir said, the edge of exasperation in his voice suggesting Bilbo was very much trying his patience.

“I… I can’t,” Bilbo answered, pain colouring his tone, and Thorin knew he was well aware of what line of thinking had triggered the panic attack.

“Yes, you can,” Haldir snapped back. “Now, tell me I’m incompetent and get over there and show me how it’s done!”

There was an agonisingly long pause, followed by: “Well, you are incompetent.”

And then Thorin saw a pair of scuffed white slippers and red and blue tartan pyjama bottoms moving towards him.

“Hi, love,” Bilbo whispered, carefully lowering himself onto the floor at his side and mirroring his position. Beorn slid a second pillow under his head.

“Okay, can we give them some space, please?”

At the junior doctor’s request, there was the sound of shuffled footsteps as the nurses retreated. Thorin gave a sharp hiccup and reached his trembling hand out from under the thick blanket. Bilbo took it immediately and pressed a gentle kiss to his knuckles, scrunching up his eyes.  

“I’m so sorry,” he said softly, his face pale and tear-stained. “I just went to the loo; I didn’t think you’d wake up… But it was a really stupid thing to do, I didn’t realise…”

Thorin squeezed Bilbo’s hand, attempting to shush him. “Not… angry…” he panted, unable to bear the look of pain on Bilbo’s face, but unfortunately limited in his means to comfort him.

At Thorin’s wheezed reply, something finally seemed to click in Bilbo’s mind, and his expression became serious, determined. “Right, we better get that breathing sorted,” he said, twining his fingers with Thorin’s. “Would you like me to breathe with you?”

Thorin nodded, managing to draw in a shuddering breath on his own.

“Okay, let’s start with inhaling,” Bilbo said, shuffling closer to him. “It’s a bit trickier than exhaling, but I’m sure we’ll get the hang of it.”

What followed was five quiet minutes of just breathing together, until Bilbo had brought Thorin back to himself, because surely that’s what he and Bilbo did, what he and Bilbo were experts at: bringing each other back from the brink.

 

…

 

The first golden hints of dawn were beginning to illuminate the clear bulbs of last night’s rain that were speckled on the window’s glass, and Thorin watched as little orange fires appeared at the bottom of the panes.

He hadn’t managed to drop off after his panic attack, but he had been content to guide Bilbo back into sleep with whispered words about the time his family had gone camping in Cumbria and he had been chased across a field by a very angry sheep.

Bilbo was asleep at his side now, one arm slung across his chest, and as Thorin watched the younger man’s eyelids twitch as he slept, he decided it was about time he put pen to paper.

It was no good him telling Bilbo that things needed to change, but then not actually changing anything, so that every time something happened, either one or both of them was left feeling horribly guilty and upset.

No, it was about time he did something, and so Thorin slowly moved his arm across the bed and hit the ‘call’ button on Bilbo’s bed controls. It was only a few moments before Beorn slipped into the room, moving surprisingly soundlessly for such a giant of a man.

“Thorin?” the nurse asked in a low whisper. “Everything okay?”

“Could I have a pen and some paper, please?” Thorin murmured.

Beorn raised a bushy eyebrow at this request, but then he turned and opened a drawer in the cupboard behind him. When he turned back around he was holding an A4 pad of lined paper and a biro. He looked at Thorin for a moment, his gaze flitting to Bilbo’s arm, and then placed the pad and pen on the bedside table. Thorn smiled his thanks. Beorn nodded, a knowing glint in his dark eyes, and then left the room just as silently as he had arrived.

It wasn’t without difficulty – and it was certainly an inadvisable feat – but Thorin managed to very carefully pull himself up into a sitting position. Bilbo’s arm slid down his chest as he moved, staying draped across his stomach as he sat up, and then with a soft sigh he pushed his face into Thorin’s hip. Thorin tried not to grin too much and restrained himself from stroking Bilbo’s hair, knowing the gesture would wake him.

With the pad of paper balanced on his knee, Thorin rested the end of the biro on his chin, pausing for a moment, and then he lowered the pen and wrote ‘Operation Ganesh’ at the top of the page, underlining it three times for good measure.

Bilbo might be a highly accomplished military tactician, but that didn’t mean Thorin couldn’t start making his own battle plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys aren’t forming a mob yet are you? *cowers behind laptop*
> 
> This chapter was supposed to be a little longer, but alas, extended family festivities got in the way! And on that note, I hope you’ve all been enjoying the holiday season and I want to take this opportunity to wish you all a superb 2016, I hope it’s a brilliant year and many good things come your way :)
> 
> Now speaking of good things, I’ve been keeping this quiet for a couple of months, but, guys, I got a new job and I’m very excited! I start in January, and I just wanted to give you a head’s up that I might need a few weeks to settle in, but I promise I will do my best to keep updating as regularly as possible. 
> 
> I also want to thank everyone for all their support this year: I never in a million years expected ‘Obstacles’ to reach over a thousand kudos and to receive such wonderful feedback, and I just want you to know that you’ve made this author very, very happy ;)


	39. Chapter 39

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look who’s sneaking in another update ;) 
> 
> Well, I couldn’t think of a better way to start the New Year. Happy 2016 everyone!
> 
> So, this is officially the longest chapter I've ever written, and we've got more snuggling, Thorin getting the ball rolling with ‘Operation Ganesh’, an unnecessary amount of references to my other fandoms, expensive ice cream, mention of hipsters, more snuggling, and an unexpected birthday party… Not necessarily in that order.

Quickly changing out of his pyjamas and pulling on a fresh t-shirt, Thorin was heading over to the sink to wash his face when he heard a hesitant step in his doorway. Turning, he half-expected to find Bilbo had followed him back to his room… What he didn’t expect to find was Ori staring at him with a startled, owlish expression, mitten-covered hands clutched to his chest.

“Ori?” Thorin murmured, raising an eyebrow as he straightened up, but before he could take a step towards him, the teenager darted from the room.

His stomach tightening, Thorin rushed out into the corridor, and saw Ori stumbling away in the direction of his own room in a rather disconcerting fashion: his back was pressed against the wall, as if he were trying to make himself invisible.

“Ori!” Thorin called out to him, making the younger man jump, and he froze, hunching his shoulders and pushing his hands under his chin.

It took only a few heavy strides for Thorin to reach him, and then Ori was looking up into his face with the expression and posture of a cornered animal, his eyes impossibly wide as he drew in audible breaths through his nose. It was then that it finally registered with Thorin how bloody terrifying he must look, all large and looming, and he had, for all intents and purposes, just yelled at Ori and chased him down a corridor. Brilliant move, moron, Thorin thought to himself, cursing his own stupidity.

“Hey,” he said, sounding slightly breathless, but still gentle. “I… I’m sorry for…” Thorin didn’t quite think ‘shouting and chasing you’ set the right tone, and he was sure to get some funny looks, so he decided to skim over that bit. “Did you want to…to talk to me… about something?”

Ori was noticeably trembling, and Thorin was starting to think he should go and get someone when the teenager slowly nodded.

“Okay,” Thorin said evenly, hearing his own heartbeat in his ears. “Do you want to come back to my room…? It’s a bit more, er, private than… well, out here.”

Ori’s wide gaze remained fearful, and Thorin realised, with a sickly pang, that he might still not be speaking to anyone… and as Thorin was yet again demonstrating his excellent communication skills, he wasn’t exactly sure how this conversation was going to go, or if it was going to occur at all. But then Ori nodded again, dipping his chin into his mittens.

Thorin managed what he hoped was an encouraging smile, and he gestured back down the corridor. “Shall we… er, head back?”

After another long moment, Ori shuffled away from the wall, and he followed Thorin, keeping one step behind him, back to his room. Ushering him inside, Thorin laid a light, reassuring hand on Ori’s shoulder, and the teenager instantly jerked away, sucking in a sharp breath, and his eyes looked about ready to pop right out of his skull.  

“Shit,” Thorin swore, grimacing, and the obscenity only made Ori flinch further, which in turn made Thorin want to swear again. How could he be so crap at this when only a few hours ago he’d been the one recoiling under unwanted contact?

Ori was fiddling with a stray thread of deep purple wool that stuck out from the back of one of his mittens, rubbing it between his finger and thumb, and this seemed to calm him enough to keep him from running out of the room again.

“I’m really sorry, Ori,” Thorin said quietly, raising his hands so Ori could see he wasn’t going to be making any sudden movements. “I know I’m making a total mess of this… You’re, er, you’re more than welcome to set your brothers on me, if you want.”

A small smile suddenly tugged at Ori’s lips and he slowly lowered his hands from his chest. Thorin waited, heart beginning to clamber up his throat, as Ori swallowed, his mouth seeming to form a few silent words, and then he spoke, his voice hoarse, but clear: “… It’s… a-alright.”

Thorin found himself smiling, with relief, if nothing else. He wondered if these were the first words Ori had spoken since Bilbo’s attempt, and therefore he knew it was vitally important that he encouraged him and kept him talking.

“So… what would you like to talk to me about?” Thorin asked, trying to ignore the strain he could hear in his voice. If Ori was afraid or had any worries he would go to Bilbo, to Bifur, or his brothers… there could be only one reason that would draw him to Thorin’s room, and this revelation brought the ache slowly throbbing again inside Thorin’s chest.

Ori’s posture had grown more rigid and he seemed to be having a silent conversation with himself, his eyes focused on a spot beneath the bed as he drew in deep breaths through his nose and out through his mouth: Thorin recognised this technique from his own sessions with Dr. Grey, and so he remained patient, employing some techniques of his own to try and keep himself calm… the last thing Ori needed was him having a panic attack.

And then Ori’s round eyes moved back to Thorin. He swallowed again and straightened up. “W-when… I… f-f-fir… f – f – ” Letting out a huff of frustration, Ori screwed up his eyes, beginning to fiddle with his mittens again.

“Would you like to… erm, write it down?” Thorin suggested softly, knowing Ori’s stutter grew worse when he became upset or stressed. “I can grab some paper…?”

A sudden defiance flashed in Ori’s eyes, which locked on Thorin. “N-N-No… I can… s-speak.”

Thorin was reminded of the moment Ori had stood up to his bickering brothers in the dayroom, and his expression was full of the same temerity and strength as when he had reminded everyone that he had a voice just as important as theirs… and Thorin sincerely hoped he hadn’t offended the teenager with his offer.

“B-but I… c-c-couldn’t,” Ori continued, his shoulders rising and falling with a practiced rhythm. “W-when I… c-c-came here…” He drew in a deeper breath. “I c-c-couldn’t speak… at all…”

Thorin nodded, knowing Ori didn’t want any sympathy, and not wanting to interrupt him again.

“B-Bilbo...” Ori whispered, a shadow of pain crossing his features. “Bilbo h-helped me… D-Dori got upset… he g-got f-f-frustrated sometimes… b-but Bilbo never did…”

Even from his safe distance, Thorin could see the tears beginning to form in Ori’s eyes and he felt the ache spreading down from his chest into his stomach.

“H-he was a-always… s-s-so patient… At f-first, he taught me… s-s-some S-sign Language… then he m-made… f-flash c-c-cards for me…”

Ori’s lip was trembling now as the first tear left a silver track down his pale cheek, but still he persevered, determined for Thorin to hear his story.

“W-we would s-sit… f-for hours and g-go through them…” Ori drew in a shuddering breath. “Bilbo s-showed me how to… s-s-sound out the w-words… H-he gave me b-back… my voice…”

Thorin felt another dull throb in his chest, and he hastily blinked away the burn in his eyes. Bilbo had set aside his own pain and helped Ori through one of the most difficult times in his life, and yet he had still thought he was selfish, that he wasn’t a good person.

“M-my s-s-speech therapist said… B-Bilbo was g-going to p-p-put her… out of a j-job,” Ori added, with a small smile, his gaze distant, as if he was remembering something, and it made Thorin smile too. But then Ori’s smile faltered and the pain returned, darkening his eyes. He turned back to Thorin, picking at the thread on his mittens. “E-every… th-thing… he did f-for me… and I… I c-c-couldn’t s-stop him…”

Thorin’s heart sank, the purpose of Ori’s visit suddenly becoming clear, and he saw his own agony, his own guilt, from yesterday mirrored before him as Ori’s comforting movements became more furious. The teenager screwed up his eyes again, before locking his watery gaze on Thorin once more.

“I… I p-promised you… I w-would take c-c-care… of him,” Ori said, his words cracking beneath the weight of what was unsaid held behind them. He reached up and rubbed at his face, letting out a miserable sound. “I… I p-p-promised…”

It was when Ori let out another choked cry that Thorin was reminded that the young soldier was only two years older than Fili, and there was a painful pulling sensation in his chest as he thought of how bewildered and lost Ori must have felt since Bilbo had been found. Slowly moving forward, Thorin desperately tried to hold back his own tears, and he made sure Ori was well aware of his approach. He reached out his hand and let it hover near the teenager’s elbow, showing him he was prepared to offer what physical comfort he could, but that he wouldn’t act without Ori’s go-ahead.

The moment dragged on, both of them staying still and wary in a frozen tableau, but with so much working between them… and then Ori stumbled forward and buried his head in Thorin’s chest, his fingers bunching the cotton fabric of his t-shirt. This sudden movement had startled him, but Thorin recovered himself and carefully wrapped his arms around Ori as he let out a hiccupping cry, seeming to shrink in his embrace.

Holding Ori felt different to hugging Bilbo or Fili or Kili, and he was acutely aware of the fact that he and Ori didn’t actually know each other all that well: he didn’t know what might trigger him, what kind of physical contact he needed, but Thorin forced himself to push past his discomfort and began gently rubbing Ori’s back.

“I-I’m… s-s-sorry,” Ori whispered, his fingers only tightening around Thorin’s t-shirt.

At first Thorin thought he was apologising for getting upset, but it was with another horrible pang that he realised Ori thought he had let him down, that he hadn’t kept his promise.

“This isn’t your fault, Ori,” he said, fighting to stop his voice from shaking. “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for, okay? Nobody is angry with you.”

Ori sniffled into his chest and stayed quiet, his fingers loosening their hold a little. Thorin wasn’t sure what else he was supposed to say. He could labour the point of Ori being blameless, but then who was he supposed to point a finger at? No, laying blame elsewhere wasn’t the way to go… His mind creeping back to the prolific notes he had scrawled that morning, Thorin thought there was no time like the present when it came to striving towards mission objectives.

“Have you been to see Bilbo yet?” he asked quietly.

He felt Ori stiffen and then the teenager was slowly straightening up. “N-No…” He swallowed, expression growing nervous. “B-Bifur and I th-thought… it m-might be b-better if we… w-waited…”

Thorin suspected the meaning behind these words was that Ori and Bifur had wanted him to have it out with Bilbo before they got involved.

“Why don’t we go and see him now?” Thorin suggested, caution in his tone, as his arms dropped back to his sides. “I’m sure he’ll want to see you.”

Ori was studying Thorin with the same wide, owlish look from when he had first entered his room, and he began fidgeting with the hem of his oversized jumper. “I… I d-don’t w-want to u-upset him… l-like last t-time…”

“Last time?” Thorin asked carefully, knitting his brows.

“W-when you were… d-d-discharged,” Ori said, worry filling his gaze, fingers tightening around his jumper. “I… I made B-Bilbo s-s-so… _angry_ …”

Thorin sighed, realising now what it was that Ori was scared of. “That isn’t going to happen again, Ori,” he replied, before adding gently: “And you know that wasn’t your fault either, don’t you?”

Ori bit his lip, looking almost hopeful. “Y-you really th-think… B-Bilbo will… want to s-s-see me?”

“I’m sure of it,” Thorin answered, smiling despite the lingering ache. He wanted to tell Ori that he had been helping Bilbo all this time by being his friend, that Bilbo still needed his help now, but found himself struggling to formulate this response in his head, let alone out loud.

The teenager’s hands fell away from his jumper and he drew in a deep breath, the hope blossoming into a shy smile. “Okay.”

Thorin led the way down the corridor to Bilbo’s room and the two of them walked in an easy silence, Ori following at Thorin’s side this time, his gaze fixed firmly ahead. However, as they approached Bilbo’s doorway, Ori dropped back, and came to a stop by the nurses’ station. Thorin slowly turned, his stomach clenching, worried that Ori had changed his mind.

“W-will y-you… go in f-f-first?” Ori mumbled. “And a-ask… if it’s… okay?”

Rosie and Radagast’s conversation came to an abrupt stop behind them and Thorin saw the nurses looking over: he guessed they’d be able to give Ori a better pep-talk than he could offer whilst he went and spoke to Bilbo.

“Of course,” Thorin answered. “You just wait here, and I’ll be back in a minute.”

Entering Bilbo’s room, Thorin found the younger man sitting on his bed with one of Balin’s articles in his hands. He looked up, already wearing a wry smile.

“I was about to send a search party,” he said, instinctively shifting over on the bed. “Did you have some difficulty putting your t-shirt on again?” The smile grew into a grin.

Thorin came to a stop by the bed, but didn’t sit down, and his hesitance instantly put Bilbo on edge.

“Thorin,” he said carefully, voice tight. “What’s going on?”

“Ori came to speak to me,” Thorin replied. “He’s waiting outside… He’d like to see you.”

Bilbo seemed to be fighting to keep his expression neutral as he lowered the article into his lap. “Is he alright? He’s… speaking again?”

Thorin perched on the edge of the bed, reaching for Bilbo’s hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze. Bilbo was still clearly quite shaken by the incident in the early hours of that morning, and Thorin didn’t want him to burden himself with more unnecessary guilt. “He is, and he’d like to speak to you.”

Bilbo coughed, his posture straightening. “Okay… I’d… I’d like that very much.”

Smiling at the answer, Thorin squeezed Bilbo’s hand again and then pecked a quick kiss on his forehead. “I’ll give you two some space, but I’ll stay by the nurses’ station… just in case you need anything.”

Bilbo nodded, and so Thorin slipped from the bed, returning to find Ori waiting anxiously for him.

“Bilbo would like to see you,” he said quietly, unable to hide a smile as Ori’s whole expression brightened.

“Th-thank you,” came Ori’s murmured response, and then he was moving passed Thorin, into Bilbo’s room.

Thorin kept his distance, as promised, but he couldn’t help but watch this particular reunion unfold from his position by the nurses’ station. He couldn’t quite hear the words the two men exchanged, although he noted there were a few stilted pauses, a few awkward utterances, but then Bilbo was pulling Ori into a tight, affectionate hug which was reciprocated by the teenager with the same level of love and relief, and Thorin knew this gesture alone spoke volumes.

Believing Bilbo would be alright without him waiting outside, Thorin turned away and almost jumped out of his skin when he found Bifur standing right behind him. The old soldier lifted a hand out of his dressing gown pocket and made a circular motion on his chest, signing his apology for startling Thorin, a knowing look in his warm eyes.

Thorin returned a thumbs up, the heartbeat in his ears steadily receding, assuring Bifur that his apology was accepted. The two men shared a moment of quiet, Bifur’s eyes searching Thorin’s face, and then he signed ‘how are you?’ with careful, deliberate hand movements.

Lifting his hand, Thorin prepared to sign ‘okay’, but Bifur’s expression stopped him. He knew the older man wasn’t going to be fooled… and that his question wasn’t a routine pleasantry: he genuinely cared about the answer. But Thorin was certain he didn’t possess the fluency in Sign Language to give him a truly honest answer, not to mention the fact that his limited grasp of BSL had grown a little rusty since he was discharged. He knew Bifur would be able to understand him if he said the words out loud, but he couldn’t deny he was finding the silence rather soothing at this present moment.

Exhaling slowly, Thorin lifted his hands and pressing his two index fingers together, made the sign for ‘pain’ and indicated his plastered knuckles, then his left knee. He followed this by the sign for ‘tired’, but then gave a double thumbs up, mouthing ‘but okay’, and added the sign for ‘happy’ by tapping his palms, just for good measure.

Bifur seemed genuinely impressed by his basic signing, and replied with a few fluid signs, communicating his good wishes, but explained that he was also feeling a bit tired. He then looked around Thorin, staring into Bilbo’s room where Bilbo and Ori were now speaking quietly, and Bifur let out a sigh with obvious sadness contained in it.

“I’m sure he’d like to see you,” Thorin put in, when Bifur’s gaze remained fixed on the room, as if he were deliberating whether or not he should join his friends.

If Ori had felt lost when Bilbo tried to take his own life, he could only imagine how Bifur must have reacted… He was Bilbo’s oldest friend at Ered Luin, and Thorin sensed the older man had shared his feelings of betrayal.

A few more silent moments passed, and then Bifur nodded. He moved forward with slow steps and then lightly knocked on Bilbo’s door. Bilbo and Ori looked up in unison, and even from a distance, Thorin saw Bilbo slip on his defensive mask. Nothing happened for a long time, but then suddenly Bifur was signing frantically. Thorin was watching his back, but he could still see the old soldier’s hands slicing through the air, and he had the feeling Bilbo was being very sternly reprimanded… He was even sure that Bifur had knocked on his head – several times – with the sign for ‘idiot’. Bilbo’s responding signs were far calmer in comparison, and he seemed to be agreeing with everything Bifur was saying, though tears were beginning to glisten in his eyes as the mask crumbled away.

And then the silent exchange was over and Bifur was striding forward into the room. He pulled Bilbo into his arms, before turning himself so he could pull Ori into their hug. And so the trio sat on Bilbo’s bed, arms wrapped around each other, clearly happy and relieved at being back together again.

Thorin had watched all this with a small smile, feeling his own eyes begin to sting. He didn’t resent the fact that he was excluded from this reunion: this was not his pain, and he had had his own, more than emotional reunion with Bilbo yesterday afternoon. He was just glad that the four of them, with their own fears and aches, their own issues with communication, had found ways to speak to each other that morning, and say everything it was that needed to be said.

 

…

 

Thorin’s eyes moved from one neatly scribed annotation to another, his gaze bouncing across the page, from margin to margin, as he read through Bilbo’s pencilled notes on Balin’s article. Having finished making his own edits, Bilbo had asked Thorin to go through his suggestions to check that they made sense and weren’t too harsh. Thorin had protested that this was hardly his area of expertise, but something in Bilbo’s expression, the lingering hints of self-doubt, had stopped his objections in their tracks and made him hold out his hand for the articles. It seemed Bilbo was determined not to cause upset to anyone, even if it was only over an academic paper.

Flipping over the page, Thorin smiled when he read the note: ‘Perhaps one less rhetorical question here – it might make your reader feel a little less attacked!’ He was reminded of Bilbo’s wry observations in their shared copy of _Othello_ , and his smile only widened, summoning a giddy warmth from his stomach. Not for the first time, he found himself very glad that he had introduced Bilbo to his cousins.

“Hey, Uncle!”

Thorin jumped, almost scrunching the corner of the article between his fingers, and turned to see Fili and Dwalin enter his room. A glance at his clock confirmed that time had gotten away with him and it was now the start of afternoon visiting hours.

“Reet bloody ray of sunshine this one is,” Dwalin said, rolling his eyes at Fili’s bright smile as she came to Thorin’s bedside.

They hugged briefly and Thorin expected Fili to pull herself up onto the bed, but instead she drew away, shifting the rucksack on her shoulder.

“So I’m gonna go and hang with Bilbo for a bit,” Fili said breezily. “I’ll leave you two to chat.”

She gave Dwalin a pointed look as he sat down in the chair at the opposite side of the bed, and Dwalin returned a glare.

“You’re just like your mother,” the Scot said, his low voice not quite reaching a growl, as it probably would have done with anyone else.

“What an original observation,” Fili said, grinning, before she turned back to her uncle. “I’ll be back soon.”

Thorin didn’t quite have chance to reply before his niece was heading out of the room, leather jacket slung over her shoulder.  He and Dwalin both stared after her for longer than was probably necessary, and Thorin sensed they may be prolonging the time before they would need to begin a conversation. He wasn’t sure why speaking suddenly seemed so daunting, but still Thorin suspected it had something to do with the meaningful look Fili had given Dwalin before she left.

Turning away from his door, Thorin found Dwalin studying him, and he attempted a smile, although he felt the awkwardness creeping up into the silence between them.

Thorin was searching for something to say, when Dwalin spoke first: “So… you’re looking a little less like shit.”

“Thanks, Dwal,” Thorin replied, with a snort. “You really do give the best compliments.”

Dwalin seemed surprised that he had taken his comment so well, but still they lapsed back into silence. Thorin wasn’t sure what had put his cousin so out of sorts and, as unaccustomed as he was to being the one to rescue a conversation, he decided he better put Dwalin out of his misery.

“Did you and Fili enjoy the film last night?” Thorin asked, reaching over to put Balin’s article on his bedside table so he didn’t crease it further.

“Oh, aye, it, uh, it was a good shout,” Dwalin replied. “All-star cast and dead funny: I think Fili wants to take you to see it when… well, when you’re out of here.”

Thorin nodded, then realised he and Faramir, nor he and Dr. Grey for that matter, had ever discussed going to the cinema with Dain. All the DVDs and TV they watched at home was pre-vetted by someone who knew his triggers, but he supposed if Fili had already seen the film, her judgement was as good as anyone else’s. Thorin wasn’t sure how he felt about actually going to the cinema, being static in a public place, in unfamiliar surroundings with unfamiliar people… but this was something to be considered another time.

“What film was it?” came Thorin’s next question, when he realised he was missing this vital piece of information.

“It’s called… _Pride_ , ‘bout a group of gay activists who go to help the miners on strike in the ‘80s,” Dwalin explained, inspecting his tattooed knuckles. “God knows we all hated Thatcher, but I didn’t realise how bad it was… for everyone.”

Thorin nodded, sensing Dwalin’s awkwardness. He wondered if his cousin still found it a bit strange that after two decades, he was now openly gay, and sexuality was no longer a taboo subject, as it had always subconsciously been on their pub crawls. He decided not to press the issue, but at the back of his mind he was mulling over Fili’s choice of film, and if it was intentional.

“So who’s the all-star cast then?” was Thorin’s next question, as he figured this topic of conversation still had a bit of life left in it.

“That bloke from _Love Actually_ ,” Dwalin replied, leaning back in his chair.

Thorin smirked. “I might need a bit more information.”

“Er… washed up rock-star, sings that godawful cover of ‘Love is All Around’.”

“Bill Nighy?”

“Aye, Bill Nighy, that’s the one… And there was that woman who’s in everything… You know, the pink cat-lady in _Harry Potter and the Phoenix-Something_ … Oh, and the evil one in _Sherlock_ who grins a lot.”

“And this is why I banned you from being on my team when we used to play charades at Christmas,” Thorin said, grinning at the memory.

Dwalin wore an expression of mock-offense. “Oi, I was good at charades – well, not the guessing part, I’ll give you that, but my miming of _Return of the Jedi_ was damn good!”

They both shared a low chuckle, and then silence fell once more. It less awkward than the previous, but still Thorin felt Dwalin wasn’t telling him something: surely Fili’s pointed look couldn’t have been about their cinema trip.

“We went for ice cream afterwards,” Dwalin said, breaking their quiet.

Thorin’s returned an amused smile. “Ice cream?”

“Yeah, lassie’s determined to destory my image,” Dwalin muttered, though there was a dark twinkle in his eyes. “We went to this late-night gelato place; fleeced me out of fifteen quid… for bloody ice cream.”

Thorin waited, unsure how to reply, but certain Dwalin wasn’t telling him this just so he could complain about expensive desserts.

“Fili told me everything,” Dwalin continued, voice quiet, careful. “About your chap’s diary… about what it said… why he did what he did.”

Heartbeat beginning a distant thunder in his ears, Thorin’s hand automatically reached out to his side, but Dain wasn’t there, so he returned his hand to his lap and started worrying the fabric of his sweatpants.

“Okay,” he said, because he wasn’t sure what else Dwalin wanted to hear from him, and he could feel the tension thrumming in the air between them.

“She also told me to stop being a dick,” Dwalin added, and suddenly the tension evaporated as Thorin choked on a laugh, knowing these words were most certainly Fili’s.

“You’re not being a dick,” Thorin said, unable to help the fondness that crept into his voice.

“What I said before,” Dwalin murmured, not quite meeting Thorin’s eye. “I misjudged the lad… I… I didn’t understand.”

Thorin nodded slowly. “Neither did I.”

Dwalin shifted on his chair, inspecting his tattooed knuckles again. Thorin was experiencing a little bit of déjà vu, remembering their conversation by the lake. He knew neither he nor Dwalin was particularly adept at discussing their feelings, but he’d say they were doing pretty well so far.

“So,” Dwalin said, giving a short cough. “Things okay between you two now? Or…uh, still a bit rocky?”

“We’re getting there,” Thorin replied, a small smile appearing as he thought of his four-page battle plan that was currently hidden in one of Bilbo’s drawers.

Dwalin, however, didn’t seem as encouraged, and Thorin could tell he was silently fighting with himself about something.

“Dwal,” Thorin said softly, his chest tightening. “Whatever it is, I’d rather you just said it… Like you said before: I don’t need to be babied.”

The answer came sooner than Thorin expected: “What if he tries again…? What if next time… it’s too late?”

There was a series of sharp, stabbing pains in Thorin’s chest, but he forced himself to breathe through them. Of course, this was a fear that had been lurking at the back of his mind since that black morning, a fear which had resurfaced very recently when he had woken to find Bilbo gone. But Thorin wouldn’t allow this dark possibility to stop him and Bilbo moving forward.

Swallowing, Thorin replied slowly: “I’m going to do everything I can to make sure it never comes to that.”

Dwalin leaned forward in his chair, a smile appearing, bringing light to his dark gaze. “Aye, I thought you might say something like that.”

Thorin smiled too, feeling the pain in his chest dissipate. “So, have you and Balin kissed and made up yet?”

Dwalin gave a grunt of displeasure, but still replied: “We’ve exchanged a few words… Ach, I just need to sulk a bit more to get over the fact that my brother was right about everything, as he always is.” Thorin gave Dwalin a sly smirk, prompting the Scot to quickly add: “And if you dare tell him I said that, I’ll rip your new beard right off your pretty face.”

 

…

 

“You’re quiet this afternoon,” Bilbo said softly, continuing to run his finger across the back of Thorin’s hand that rested over his chest.

They were lying on their sides on the bed, Bilbo with his back to Thorin’s chest and Thorin’s arms wrapped around him, his head tucked under Thorin’s chin. Every so often, a few words would be exchanged, but both were content with the warm, cosy silence, and Bilbo had been tracing invisible patterns on Thorin’s hands for the past half hour.

Thorin gave a hum in reply, pushing his nose into the soft, curly hair at Bilbo’s neck, trying to reassure him… but he should have known that Bilbo was not one to be easily fooled. Stilling in Thorin’s arms, the younger man then slowly rotated himself so that he could see his face, and he gently ran a light finger over Thorin’s bearded cheek.

“Will you tell me?” he asked, green-grey gaze searching Thorin’s face for answers.

Thorin stared back, letting out a long, slow breath. In the quiet of the afternoon, he had been trying to work up the courage to tell Bilbo about ‘Operation Ganesh’, and trying to figure out the best way to broach the subject.

Knowing it was time to be brave, to use the courage Bilbo had helped him regain, Thorin pulled himself up into a sitting position. Bilbo warily mirrored his movements.

“I want to talk to you about something,” Thorin began, keeping his voice steady.

The change that came over Bilbo was immediate: his posture became rigid as his back straightened, and the neutral mask settled over his face… it just didn’t quite reach his eyes, which still contained obvious anxiety.

“It’s nothing bad,” Thorin added, taking Bilbo’s hands in his own. “Promise.”

Bilbo’s shoulders sagged a little. “Okay,” he replied, still sounding nervous.

Thorin surprised Bilbo by rising from the bed and he moved around to the other side of the room, going to the drawer where he had hidden his pad of paper. Retrieving it, he returned to the bed, sitting opposite Bilbo with the pad in his lap. Bilbo eyed the pad with suspicion, fighting to stop his eyebrows from rising any further.

“I… I’ve made some notes,” Thorin said, cringing at the tremble in his voice as he opened the pad to the first, scribble-covered page.

“Notes?” Bilbo asked carefully, and Thorin could see him trying to read the writing upside down.

“Er, battle plans, really,” Thorin murmured, managing a smile. “I’ve… I’ve called it ‘Operation Ganesh’.”

There was still wariness in Bilbo’s expression, but a smirk appeared when he repeated: “'Operation _Ganesh_ ’?”

“Every good operation needs a catchy name,” Thorin said, echoing Bilbo’s words from when he had first revealed his plans for ‘Operation Espresso’.

The parallels with his and Bilbo’s escape to the coffee shop were undeniable, and Thorin supposed they were a little difficult to acknowledge, now that he knew that mission’s secondary objective, but he saw ‘Operation Ganesh’ as both the sister of and the antidote to ‘Operation Espresso’.

“And what are your mission objectives?” came Bilbo’s next question, and Thorin didn’t miss the way his hands retreated into his lap, fingers curling to hide a slight tremble.

“Oh, well…” Thorin flicked through the pages before him, swallowing against his own nervousness. “There are… er, quite a few… I mean, I’ve written about four pages and each objective kind of has its own subset of objectives.”

Thorin knew his answer was rather unhelpful, and so he anticipated Bilbo’s response: “So what are your over-arching objectives?”

Thorin coughed to clear his throat. “Okay, er, firstly it’s _our_ objectives,” he began, with a small smile. “We’re doing this together, Bilbo; we’re a team in this.”

Despite his obvious discomfort, a smile also tugged at the corner of Bilbo’s lips. “Understood.”

“And our over-arching objective…” Thorin exhaled slowly, trying to quell his frustration as he searched for the right words. “Is to ensure you make some real progress… to keep us both moving forward.”

Bilbo’s posture had grown rigid again, but still he gave a nod.

“I… I told you I want things to change,” Thorin continued, pushing past the wobble in his voice. “So we’re going to change things… together.”

Bilbo’s eyes had taken on a shine. “Okay,” he replied, and although it was only one word, there was obvious emotion contained in it.

Feeling the need to ease the tension buzzing between them, Thorin smiled and asked: “So, do you accept your mission?”

“I do,” Bilbo said, and then to Thorin’s surprise, he gave him a right-handed salute. “Captain Baggins, reporting for duty, Sir.”

Thorin’s eyes widened, and there was a charged moment before he said quietly: “Your rank… is captain?” Bilbo had never mentioned his rank - aside from officer - before and Thorin had known better than to ask.

Bilbo seemed equally surprised, and he furrowed his brow. “Yes… I… I, er, haven’t used my rank in… God, I can’t even remember the last time I referred to myself as Captain Baggins.”

Bilbo’s gaze became distant, and Thorin was beyond pleased to see it was full of wonder, rather than distress, at this development. Thorin himself thought there was something satisfyingly symbolic about he and Bilbo sharing the same rank, and it only made him smile more.

“Would you like to have a read through?” Thorin asked, and he turned the pad around and held it out for Bilbo.

Bilbo suddenly flinched away, lifting a hand to his face to hide the pad from view and Thorin instantly snatched it back, out of Bilbo’s line of sight, his heart throwing itself against his ribs.

“Bilbo,” he breathed. “Bilbo, I’m sorry… I didn’t think it’d… I’m sorry.”

Bilbo slowly lowered his hand, gaze still fixed on the window as he sucked in a deep breath. “No, no, it’s alright…” He exhaled carefully. “Just… seeing everything laid out… It was going to be too much, a bit too overwhelming for me.” He swallowed. “… Is it okay if we, er, proceed one objective at a time?”

“Of course,” Thorin said gently, trying to control his own breathing. “Of course, that’s fine.”

Bilbo slowly turned his eyes back to Thorin. “Would you mind if I made a suggestion? Well… a request actually.”

“Not at all: you’re the tactical genius,” Thorin said slyly.

Bilbo did smile at that. “The list you have of proposed actions… Would you be able to order them, from those easiest to those most difficult to achieve? Just so we can, er, start with the less intensive objectives and work our way up… But if you could also rank them in time order – the ones we need to tackle first at the beginning, and, er, cross-reference this list with the first?”

Thorin stared at Bilbo, trying very hard not to look like a deer in the headlights. “Yeah… er, yeah I can do that,” he said, aware of how unconvincing he sounded. He might need to seek outside help for this one… but Bilbo didn’t need to know that.

“Have you spoken to Gandalf about this?” Bilbo asked, brow furrowed again.

“Not yet,” Thorin answered honestly, and his eyes scanned the page in front of him. “I might need to ask him about a few things on here… If that’s alright with you?”

Bilbo nodded. “That’s fine… but if you could give me a gist of these things closer to the time, before you ask him?”

“Of course I will.”

“Okay,” Bilbo said, letting out a sigh, and he already looked a little exhausted… and Thorin supposed he felt it too: they’d both come very far in a matter of minutes.

He reached for Bilbo’s hand, feeling the need for physical contact again, for reassurance.

They sat in peaceful silence for a few moments, Bilbo’s thumb moving over Thorin’s palm, and then the younger man said: “You want to talk about our first mission objective now.” It was a statement, not a question, but his smile was knowing, not disgruntled.

“If that’s okay?” Thorin murmured, squeezing Bilbo’s fingers.

The wariness had returned to Bilbo’s expression, but still he replied: “There’s no time like the present.”

Thorin relinquished his hand so that he could turn to the correct page in his notes. “Our first objective, is to make sure you have a good birthday.”

Bilbo’s nose twitched. “We don’t need to do anything for my birthday.”

“Not an option,” Thorin said, having fully expected Bilbo’s answer. He knew one of the biggest barriers to Bilbo’s progress was Bilbo himself, and so some things Thorin was most definitely going to fight him on.

Bilbo looked a little put out by Thorin’s rebuttal, but didn’t say anything.

“We’re going to celebrate your birthday, Bilbo,” Thorin said, taking the younger man’s hand again. “I am, however, open to negotiating the specific terms of the celebration.”

Bilbo considered Thorin for a long time, but then, clearly accepting defeat, he said quietly: “I don’t want any fuss, Thorin… No balloons or banners, nothing garish.”

“Okay,” Thorin said, and seeing Bilbo shrink into himself, he added: “And I take it you want me to cancel the stripper I’ve booked?”

This earned a smile. “Unless you are the stripper in question… but, then again, we don’t want to traumatise Fili and Kili too much.”

“Agreed… Now, presents?”

“You don’t need to get me anything.”

“Also not an option.”

Bilbo sighed, seeming both bemused and impressed by Thorin’s backbone. “Alright… but no expensive presents.” Thorin opened his mouth, but Bilbo cut across him: “I mean it, Thorin… no custom-made or personalised gifts, no first editions or antiques you’ve paid a fortune for. You and your family can put that money to far better use.”

Thorin nodded, feeling the heat growing in his cheeks. Bilbo really was too perceptive for his own good: he and Fili had been looking at certain gifts online which had matched some of Bilbo’s descriptions, but they had decided against purchasing anything when Bilbo had first made the comments about not wanting to celebrate his birthday. Thorin sensed that Bilbo didn’t want presents because he felt he didn’t deserve them, but he was going to find as many ways as possible to show Bilbo he deserved the world, and he already had his family working on it away from the hospital.  

“Okay, no expensive presents,” Thorin said, squeezing Bilbo’s hand again. “So, what about a cake?”

“You’re not going to let me say no, are you?”

Thorin’s smile gave Bilbo his answer.

Bilbo sighed. “Okay, we can have a cake… but for God’s sake, don’t put thirty-three candles on there, I don’t need to be reminded of how old I’m getting.”

Thorin was sure there were several darker reasons lurking behind the humour, but he thought it would be unproductive to challenge Bilbo on them now, instead he swatted his arm. “Oi, I’m thirty-eight going on thirty-nine!”

“I know,” Bilbo grinned. “You’re ancient.”

Before Thorin could protest, Bilbo had risen onto his knees and used his shirt collar to pull him into a kiss. Thorin laughed into Bilbo’s lips, before reluctantly pulling away. “You’re not allowed to jump me to get out of discussing this,” he whispered fondly.

“It was worth a try,” Bilbo said, smirking as he returned to his former position, cross-legged on the bed.

Thorin’s eyes went to his notes. “So we can do presents and the cake during afternoon visiting hours… I’m, er, guessing you’d rather stay in your room as opposed to the dayroom?”

Bilbo nodded. “Please.”

“As for your invite list, I was thinking Dis, Fili, and Kili, obviously, but would you mind if Balin and Dwalin came as well?”

“That’s fine.”

“And I think Ori and Bifur’s families would like to see you, if that’s okay?”

“Okay.”

Thorin smiled approvingly, glad Bilbo was going to be surrounded by family and friends on the day. “Would you like anyone else to be there?”

“No… I, er, I think that’s everyone.”

Thorin slipped the biro out of the pad’s binding and made a few extra notes on the first page of ‘Operation Ganesh’, then his pen stilled over a question mark next to one of the subset of objectives.

“Are you going to Skype your cousins on the day?” he asked, lifting his eyes from the page. He wasn’t sure how much contact Bilbo had had with Prim and Drogo since his attempt, but he knew that as Bilbo’s next of kin, they must have been informed about what had happened.

Bilbo was trying and failing to slide on his mask, and the shine in his eyes threatened the beginnings of tears.

“Bilbo?” Thorin said gently.

“It’s Frodo’s birthday too,” he whispered, and at Thorin’s raised eyebrow, he elaborated: “Frodo and I share a birthday.”

This revelation was more than unexpected, and Thorin was struggling to formulate a reply when Bilbo said: “I tried to kill myself a few days before their son’s first birthday… I’m not sure they’ll want to speak to me.”

Thorin closed his eyes, exhaling carefully. This situation wasn’t ideal, and he knew Bilbo’s actions must have hurt his cousins, as they had hurt him, but he also knew avoiding his family wasn’t going to help resolve things.

“Have you spoken to them… since?”

“Drogo and I had a phone call, the day before yesterday.”

“And did he explicitly tell you that he and Prim didn’t want to speak on your birthday?”

Bilbo sighed, reaching up to discreetly wipe at his eyes. “No.”

“Well, there you go,” Thorin said warmly. “I’m sure they’ll want to celebrate with you and… and they’ll just be really glad that…”

Thorin trailed off, deciding it probably wasn’t a wise thing to say, but Bilbo finished the sentence for him: “That I’m still here?”

“Yes,” Thorin replied, and then shifted on the bed, sliding himself round so he could wrap an arm around Bilbo and press a kiss to his forehead. “Everyone is glad you’re still here, and me especially…” He kissed Bilbo’s cheek. “And I think that’s worth a celebration, don’t you?”

 

…

 

On the morning of the 22nd, Thorin woke before Bilbo. As this was a generally unusual occurrence, Thorin thought he had better make the most of it, and enjoy the view of Bilbo, sleeping soundly in his arms. They were both lying on their sides, and looking down, Thorin saw that Bilbo’s hand was clutching his t-shirt. The hold was loose, showing no particular distress, but rather a need for comfort, and it made Thorin smile. The younger man’s face was slack and relaxed as he slept, and his eyes were flickering only slightly behind his lids.

Knowing that Bilbo didn’t react well to being woken, Thorin was content to wait, and so he did just that, staying still in the bed, watching his boyfriend with a look which he knew could only be described as ‘besotted’.

After about twenty minutes, Bilbo stirred, his fingers flexing around Thorin’s t-shirt. He stretched himself out with a soft yawn, then his eyes opened and as he gazed, blearily, up at Thorin, a smile appeared.

“Good morning,” he said quietly.

Thorin leaned forward, his nose nudging against Bilbo’s. “Morning.”

Bilbo bumped Thorin’s nose back with a chuckle, and then they shared a slow, lazy kiss.

Pulling away, Thorin smiled and murmured: “Happy Birthday.”

No change came over Bilbo, as Thorin had expected, and instead he snuggled further into Thorin’s embrace with a soft ‘thank you’.

They stayed cuddled up to each other for a long time as the hospital itself began to wake, until finally Thorin broke the silence: “Would you like to open some of your presents now?”

“I thought we were waiting until this afternoon?” Bilbo replied sleepily.

“We are, but I’d quite like to give you my present before, if that’s okay?”

Bilbo tugged at Thorin’s t-shirt. “Does it involve you removing your clothing?”

“Not this time,” Thorin said, with a snigger, before pulling himself up in the bed.

Bilbo did the same, and Thorin was about to get up and find Rosie when Rosie herself stuck her head around the door, wearing a wide grin.

“Present time?” she asked cheerily.

“Present time,” Thorin agreed.

It seemed Rosie had, as ever, arrived prepared and she moved into the room, clearly holding something behind her back. She produced the gifts and laid them on Bilbo’s over-bed table, before moving it down to his and Thorin’s knees.

“This card and package are from Prim and Drogo, but they’d like you to open it whilst you Skype,” she explained, indicating the packages in air mail wrapping, and Thorin slipped his arm around Bilbo, just to provide some extra reassurance. “This card is from the ward, and these are from Thorin.”

“Thank you, Rosie,” Bilbo said, sharing a knowing look with the nurse, one borne out of three years of friendship, and he was glad that Bilbo and Rosie were back to being thick as thieves.

“Happy Birthday, Bilbo,” Rosie said, the look lingering, and then she added: “Well, I’ll leave you to it… Let me know if you need some help with Thorin’s interesting wrapping.”

Thorin’s cheeks coloured a little as the nurse left the room. He had insisted on wrapping Bilbo’s presents himself, but after several arguments with the gift paper, he had ended up adding more sellotape than was necessary to punish it.

“Dis has my card,” Thorin explained, as Bilbo reached for the envelope which contained the card from the ward. “She’ll bring it with their presents this afternoon.”

“It better not contain some sappy poetry,” Bilbo said, with a hum, as he opened the card, and Thorin stilled, thinking of the words inside his card which had taken him well over a day to draft. “Oh, Thorin, I’m joking.” Bilbo gave him a playful nudge. “And you know you didn’t have to get me a card… or anything for that matter.”

“And you know that wasn’t an option,” Thorin replied, kissing his neck.

He rested his chin on Bilbo’s shoulder, reading the birthday wishes written by the nursing staff. He also spotted some fond words from Dr. Grey and then the fairly succinct, but well-meaning message from Haldir: ‘Hope you have a great day – Dr. March’. Thorin could see Bilbo’s smile in the periphery of his vision, and the younger man reached up to quickly rub at his eyes.

“Can I open your presents now?” he asked, pulling the rectangular present closer to him, the smaller box, placed on top, moved with it.

“Of course,” Thorin answered. “I… I hope you like them.”

It wasn’t without some difficulty, but still Bilbo managed to fight his way through the wrapping paper of the smaller present, and then he let out a soft gasp.

“Thorin… it’s beautiful,” he said, lifting the box, which contained a silver fountain pen, and admiring it.

“Beautiful people need beautiful things,” Thorin said, kissing Bilbo’s neck again.

A very attractive blush was spreading across Bilbo’s cheeks. “It’s lovely… Thank you.”

Bilbo turned next to the larger present, and as he began to pull away the wrapping, Thorin felt his heartbeat pick up its pace. Tearing away the last of the paper, Bilbo’s hands closed around the journal that was bound in dark blue leather with a Celtic design bordering the cover, printed into the leather.

“I thought you might like to start a new journal,” Thorin said, his voice wavering slightly. “So you can, er, write down all your ideas and… thoughts about the trouble we get into with ‘Operation Ganesh’.”

Bilbo ran a tentative figure over the intertwined lines of the journal’s border, and Thorin found himself holding his breath, but then Bilbo turned and his green eyes were shining with tears.

“I think that’s a very good idea,” he said, in a whisper, and then he was pulling Thorin into a hug with a happy, hiccupping cry. “Thank you… for the presents… for… for everything…” His fingers moved into Thorin’s hair. “I love you.”

Thorin held Bilbo tighter. “I love you too,” he replied, and then he was smiling.

“I can feel you grinning,” Bilbo sighed, with mock-chiding.

Thorin only pushed his nose into Bilbo’s neck. “Good,” was all he said.

 

…

 

That morning, Bilbo Skyped his cousins. With New Zealand thirteen hours ahead, the call had to be made fairly promptly after he and Thorin had woken so Bilbo would be able to speak to Frodo before he was put to bed. Knowing Bilbo would rather have some time alone with his family, Thorin had gone to shower and dress for the day whilst the call was made. He was, however, collected from his room by Rosie because Prim was very determined in her insistence that they speak to him as well before the call was over.

Thorin had expected it to be sufficiently awkward, but Prim and Drogo were both all smiles, and little Frodo, balanced on Prim’s knee, in all his chubby and wide-eyed glory had been adorably enthusiastic at Thorin’s joining of the conversation, lurching forward and pressing his fat, tiny hands against the laptop screen. Thorin hadn’t corrected Bilbo’s cousins when they referred to him as ‘Uncle Thorin’, and Bilbo had squeezed his hand beneath the bed covers.

After they had shared a tearful, but happy, good bye, Bilbo had shown Thorin his present: a dark gold pocket-watch that had belonged to Drogo’s father, with a beautiful photo of Drogo, Prim, and Frodo on the inside. Bilbo hadn’t said much about it, keeping his thoughts to himself, but Thorin knew he more than appreciated the significance of the gift.

Lunch was a quiet affair, helping Bilbo prepare himself for the party that afternoon. As requested, Thorin had made sure a minimum of fuss was made, but by the time four o’ clock rolled around, Bilbo’s room was full of people, all crowding around his bed and staring at the colourful pile of gifts on his over-bed table with warm, expectant smiles.

Thorin sat in his usual position at Bilbo’s side, but they had made room on the bed so Kili could join them. Dis, Fili, Dwalin and Balin were gathered at one side, with Ori, Bifur and their families on the other. Rosie and Radagast had also made an appearance, although they hung back in the doorway to ensure everyone else had enough room.

“I… I don’t know what to open first,” Bilbo murmured, looking a little shell-shocked as his eyes travelled over his presents.

There was a moment of silence, and then Kili saved the day by pulling his present, which happened to be the largest, from the pile and holding it out to Bilbo. “How about mine?”

There was a round of good-natured tittering and Kili looked confused, unsure why his suggestion was so funny, but then Bilbo smiled and took his present. “Excellent idea, Kili,” he said, reading the present’s tag, before carefully ripping open the shiny blue paper.

“It’s medieval chess!” Kili said, fidgeting with excitement. “All the pieces are shaped like stuff from the Middle Ages… Uncle Thorin says you’re really good at chess, but you don’t have your own board… So I thought you might like this one.”

“It’s wonderful, Kili,” Bilbo said, wrapping his arm around Kili in a warm hug. “Thank you… We’ll have to have a few games. Do you know how to play?”

“Yeah,” Kili replied eagerly. “Fee taught me, but you could help me get better.”

Thorin glanced over at Fili and she returned a wry smile, clearly not offended by Kili’s comment… Like her uncle, she was just glad that Bilbo was still Kili’s favourite person at the moment.

There was a pause, and then Thorin took it upon himself to be official present handler and selected two gifts from the pile that were held together by gold ribbon, holding them out for Bilbo.

“Oh, those are from me,” Dis said, before flashing a grin at her brother.

Thorin knew what one of the presents was, but with a jolt, realised that he had no idea what else Dis had bought… or why she was smiling at him like that.

Bilbo unwrapped the present with the same care he had shown all his gifts, and slowly pulled out a simple silver photo frame which held a picture of Thorin, Dis, Fili, and Kili sitting together on the grass with Dain snuggled into Thorin’s side. The photo had been taken in their back garden on a particularly sunny day in August. This was the gift Thorin knew about.

“What a lovely photograph,” Bilbo said, sharing a smile with Dis. “Thank you, Dis… Kili, would you put this on my bedside table?”

“Sure!” Kili took the frame and settled it on the table next to him, making sure Bilbo still had space for his books.

Bilbo turned to the second present and, pulling away the paper, discovered a small, A5 photo album in the same dark blue leather design as the journal Thorin had given him. Thorin’s eyes immediately shot up to look at Dis, and he found both his sister and his niece grinning at him. Bilbo opened up the album, and Thorin let out a low groan.

“Oh my God, Thorin… Is… is this you?” Bilbo asked, bright eyes studying the first photo in the album.

It was a picture of Thorin when he was six months old and he was in hideously frilly baby clothes. It had been taken by a professional photographer, so the background was the generic palette of blues and greys, with the fat, ugly baby Thorin refused to acknowledge was himself leaning against some awful striped cushions.

Thorin glared across the bed at Dis. “I hate you,” he muttered, and everyone burst out laughing.

“Thorin, you look so cute and grumpy!” Bilbo cooed. “Look at your little frown… You still do that, you know.”

“This can’t be happening,” Thorin groaned, hands covering his face. “I’m in a horrible dream, and I’m going to wake up.”

He heard the sound of Bilbo flicking through the photos and making several amused noises.

“I’ve included some stunning photographs from the thirty-nine years you’ve missed out on,” Dis explained. “And there’s, er, still plenty of space at the back… So you can add your own photos.”

Thorin’s hands dropped from his face in time to see Bilbo mouth a ‘thank you’ to Dis, his expression full of emotion, and Dis dipped her chin, her own gaze growing a little blurry.

“So, do we get a look at baby Thorin then?” Bofur piped up, and before Thorin could grab the album from Bilbo’s hands, it was being passed around the room.

“Okay, next present,” Thorin said hastily, trying to ignore the murmured comments about his younger self.

He lifted a neatly-wrapped present from the diminishing pile and almost dropped it, surprised by how heavy it was.

“Ah, these are from me,” Balin said kindly, raising his hand.

Bilbo smiled over at him, before tearing away the wrapping paper to reveal a stack of three hardback books. As soon as Bilbo lifted the first, Dwalin turned an incredulous stare on his brother.

“I can’t believe you bought the lad your own book, you bloody egotist!” he grumbled, but Balin remained unfazed.

“A signed copy no less,” Bilbo grinned, opening the book’s cover. “Thank you, Balin.”

“Well, at least when he pops his clogs it’ll be worth a pretty penny on eBay,” Dwalin shrugged, and Balin smacked him.

Bilbo looked through the other two titles – both collections of political essays – and thanked the older Scot for his gifts. Having removed Balin’s present from the pile, Thorin discovered a strange package wrapped in tinfoil. He lifted it with caution and handed it to Bilbo.

This time it was Balin’s turn to glare at his brother. “I thought you said you’d wrapped them!”

“I have wrapped them,” Dwalin replied defensively, gesturing at the foil.

Balin rolled his eyes, but Bilbo only grinned as he peeled away the tinfoil with a metallic scratch. Underneath he found a tray loaded with home-made biscuits and he looked up at Dwalin in wonder.

“Thorin told me you, uh, have a bit of a sweet tooth,” Dwalin said, suddenly looking bashful: Thorin was sure he had never seen his cousin blush before. “So, I baked these for you… There’s Scottish shortbread, chocolate chip shortbread, and gingerbread rounds. My granny’s recipe... Just hope they taste okay.”

Bilbo seemed just as startled as Thorin, and it took him a while to reply: “I… I’m sure they will. Thank you, Dwalin, you really didn’t need to go to the trouble…”

Dwalin lowered his head, his embarrassment giving his cheeks a healthy glow. Thorin had always been a fan of Dwalin’s fry-ups, but baking was very much a hidden talent. He gave Dwalin a shit-eating grin and his cousin promptly mouthed where he could stick it.

Moving the tray of biscuits to the other side of the table, Thorin retrieved the second to last present and held it out for Bilbo.

“Okay, so this is mine,” Fili said, edging forward. “I didn’t realise everyone else’s presents were going to be so, er, nice and thoughtful… So, yeah, er, token joke present, I guess.”

Everyone in the room seemed to lean closer with intrigue. Bilbo pulled off the paper and instantly let out a low chuckle. Fili had bought him a book entitled: ‘So You’re Dating a Guy with a Beard?’, and underneath was the subtitle: ‘Useful Tips for You and Your Hipster Boyfriend’.

“What’s a ‘hipster’?” Thorin asked, one eyebrow raised.

Fili only smirked. “That’s a very hipster thing to say.”

Bilbo began flicking though the book, beaming as his eyes scanned the pages.

“It’s kind of a graphic novel slash instruction manual,” Fili explained.

Bilbo turned to Thorin and gave him a gleeful nudge. “So I’ve got an instruction manual for you now.”

Thorin leaned in closer to him, grinning. “Not that you’ve ever needed one.”

It was Dis who gave a pointed cough. “Final present,” she said, clapping her hands together.

There was a square box left on the over-bed table and Bilbo reached for it himself this time.

“This is from all of us,” Dori explained, looking from his brothers to Bifur and his cousins, who all smiled warmly at Bilbo. “For your birthday, but to also say thank you… for everything you’ve done for our families.”

Bilbo swallowed, nodding as he began to pull off the wrapping paper. Thorin clocked the slight tremble in his fingers and was instantly on guard, but still Bilbo adeptly disposed of the paper and opened the black, silver-bordered box. Inside, on a dark velvet cushion, sat a beautiful silver watch. It had a thick strap composed of intricate, interlinking metal plates and the face was made up of several silver and gold dials.

Bilbo stared up at his friends, his mouth slightly agape, clearly unsure of what to say. Bifur started Signing, pointing at his wrist repeatedly with the sign for ‘Time’, with Bofur and Bombur adding their own comments with graceful hand gestures. Bilbo seemed to want to sign back, but he was overcome with emotion, unable to lift his shaking hands as he blinked back the tears.

“Th-Thank you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “It’s… It’s perfect.”

Everyone in the room was wearing the same affectionate smile, and Thorin’s hand slipped to Bilbo’s back as he murmured: “Okay?”

Bilbo nodded, wiping his eyes. Kili leaned over and grabbed the box of tissues from the bedside table and pulled a couple out, handing them to Bilbo, who gave a teary chuckle and thanked him.

“Right, time for the cake, then?” Rosie asked, clearly wanting to draw the attention away from Bilbo.

“Try not to set the ward on fire, Rosie,” Thorin called, as the nurse made to leave the room and he heard her shout back: “I’ll set you and your hipster beard on fire!”

Rosie returned almost instantaneously with the cake which held one lit, chunky candle at its centre and everyone parted so she could come and place it in front of Bilbo on the over-bed table. Bilbo smiled appreciatively at it, and then he raised an eyebrow, turning to Thorin.

“It’s a coffee and walnut cake,” Thorin said. “Bard sent it over from the Esgaroth Coffee House for us.”

“I thought as much,” Bilbo said wryly.

“Is it… okay?”

“It seems fitting.”

Thorin nodded: it was fitting, making Bilbo’s birthday party the perfect fusion of the past, present, and future, with reminders of ‘Operation Espresso’, which aside from its darker undertones, had also signalled the start of their relationship, with everything else down to the planning of ‘Operation Ganesh’… Yes, Thorin thought it was very fitting.

“Okay, everyone,” Radagast said, carefully closing Bilbo’s door. “For the sake of our other patients, we ask that you don’t sing too loudly, but if you could all join me in wishing Bilbo a very Happy Birthday and singing to him.”

What followed was one round of an unexpectedly tuneful rendition of ‘Happy Birthday’, and as he sang, Thorin couldn’t help but stare at Bilbo’s shy, but undeniably touched smile, and he could feel a warmth spreading up from his stomach and across his chest. He was so pleased they had been able to make this happen, that Bilbo could be here, surrounded by people who loved him, and see just how much he meant to everyone.

The singing came to a joyous end, and then Radagast announced: “Time to blow out your candle, Bilbo, and don’t forget to make a wish.”

Bilbo looked to Thorin, his hand sliding over his beneath the table, and they shared a knowing smile, full of such love it made Thorin want to burst, and then Bilbo turned back to his cake, took a deep breath, and blew out his candle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man, this update rivalled Chapter 36 for the fight it put up, but I decided I wanted to give you all one last update before I start my new job this week. 
> 
> I want to give a special thank you to Gaaladrieel for their suggestions regarding this chapter – without them I would’ve been stuck helplessly flapping over Bilbo’s party and his presents, and they definitely got the ball rolling with this update!
> 
> And I also want to thank you all for your continued support with this fic. Honestly, I love you all to pieces for sticking with this story! :) 
> 
> A Random Side-Note: When I was researching for this chapter I looked up films that were released in the UK in September 2014 (when this story is set) and as soon as I saw ‘Pride’, I knew without a doubt that this is the film Fili would take Dwalin to see. If you haven’t already seen ‘Pride’, I beg you all to do yourselves a massive favour and check it out: it’s such an amazing film!


	40. Chapter 40

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! So, it’s been a hectic few weeks, but I’ve settled in nicely at my new job and it really has been the fresh start I needed… which means it’s now time for Chapter 40!
> 
> I want to thank the lovely Radioproxy for their help with a couple of things in this update, particularly regarding a few wardrobe changes for Bilbo.
> 
> There will be onesies.

Dain sniffed hopefully at the shiny, crinkled tinfoil of Dwalin’s present as Thorin placed it on top of Balin’s books.

“Oh no, not for you, mister,” Thorin said, gently batting the Labrador away as he finished arranging Bilbo’s birthday presents on the low coffee table by the window.

Obediently shuffling away, Dain sat down on the floor next Thorin, who reached into his jeans pocket to retrieve the last of his treats.

“Here you go,” he said, holding out his palm so Dain could hoover them up with a few slobbery licks.

Thorin scratched him behind the ears with a fond smile, and in turn Dain gave his nose an equally slobbery lick in appreciation. It had been decided that Bilbo’s birthday party would be a little too crowded for Dain, and as Thorin had insisted that he would be fine without the assistance dog for the proceedings, Faramir had waited until the evening to drop him off at the hospital.

Taking another peak under the tinfoil, Thorin wondered if he should offer the tray to Bilbo. They had shared a piece of birthday cake, and as the side-effects of his new medication seemed to have settled down, Thorin hoped Bilbo’s infamous appetite might be returning. He turned, mouth opening to pose the question, but then stopped short.

Bilbo was sitting in the middle of his bed with the silver watch, gifted to him by Bifur and Ori, laid out in his open palm. Thorin watched as he ran his thumb over its glittering face, and there was a worrying crease in his brow: one that betrayed the painful internal battle that was no doubt waging inside his head.

“Dain, lay down for me,” Thorin said quietly, stroking the Labrador’s head. Dain slid down, folding his paws in front of him, but keeping his head up as Thorin scratched under his chin. “Good boy,” he said approvingly, before slowly rising from the floor.

Bilbo was aware of his approach and moved over a little on the bed, but still he kept his eyes focused on the watch as Thorin came to sit down at his side. Wrapping one arm around Bilbo’s back, Thorin pressed a soft kiss to his cheek as he folded his legs under him.

They were silent for a few long moments, and then came Thorin’s gentle question: “Will you tell me what Bifur and his cousins said? About the watch?”

His rudimentary grasp of Sign Language had only allowed him to pick up the word ‘time’ from their exchanges, and as they had been discussing a watch, this was hardly surprising. It also left Thorin in the dark as to what could be bothering Bilbo about the gift.

Bilbo let out a slow breath, and Thorin didn’t miss the tremble in it. His thumb once again traced the path of the delicate silver and gold dials.

“You don’t need to tell me,” Thorin said, trying to quell the panic rising in his chest. Perhaps this had not been a very tactful enquiry after all…

“Bifur said it was to remind me that I still have an awful lot of time left,” Bilbo suddenly answered, fighting to keep his voice from shaking. “That I still have so much time…” he repeated. “And I’m the only one who can decide what to do with the time given to me.”

Deep inside his chest, Thorin’s heart gave a dull throb, and he carefully drew Bilbo closer to him. “He’s right,” he said softly, his hand moving to cradle Bilbo’s holding the watch, fingers tracing gentle patterns over the back of his wrist.

Bilbo nodded, his fingers closing over the watch as he closed his eyes, his expression pained.

Thorin’s chest continued to ache, Bilbo’s agony becoming his own, as if it were being transferred by their close proximity, bleeding out from skin to skin. Well, hadn’t they always shared each other’s pain, right from the very beginning? From the first moment he had been wheeled onto the ward?

“Bilbo,” Thorin whispered, trying to keep his tone even. “Will you tell me what’s upsetting you? Is… is there anything I can do?”

Thorin could definitely make a few educated guesses about the causes of Bilbo’s anguish, but he knew communication between the two of them was now more important than ever. He needed to make sure Bilbo didn’t lock his thoughts and feelings away, out of his reach, and that they tried to maintain an honesty and openness with each other.

It seemed a very long time until Bilbo’s reply came, and Thorin was genuinely worried there would be no reply at all, but then the younger man answered: “This afternoon… It was… it was so wonderful… everyone being here with me, and the gifts, the cake…” Bilbo’s posture became hunched and he wrapped his free arm around his stomach. “But now… I… I’m feeling… _everything_. Feeling everything all at once… the good, the bad… Like every emotion I’ve ever felt swelling up inside...” His eyes were beginning to shine now, his lip trembling as he spoke. “I f-feel ready to just burst from it all… Like the grey wool inside is… is _ripping_... because it’s all… it’s all too much.”

Momentarily stunned by the sheer eloquence and raw detail of Bilbo’s words, Thorin managed to snap back to himself in time as Bilbo’s first cry left him. Reaching out, he carefully manoeuvred Bilbo’s legs around, effectively pulling the younger man into his lap. Bilbo didn’t protest: instead, he dropped the watch back onto its velvet cushion and moved with Thorin, one hand curling around his t-shirt as he pushed his face into his chest. At the sounds of Bilbo’s distress, Dain’s ears turned towards the bed and he pulled himself up into a sitting position, head tilted as he looked towards Thorin. But Thorin only held out his hand, palm vertical in a stopping gesture, indicating that the Labrador should stay put. Dain didn’t move, but still kept his gaze fixed on the bed.

“Okay,” Thorin murmured, turning back to Bilbo, wrapping his arms around him and resting his chin on his curly hair. “We’re okay…”

He could understand why Bilbo might feel overwhelmed by everything that had happened that afternoon, and he was just so thankful that he had shared his thoughts with him. Even with Bilbo sobbing against his chest, this felt very much like progress.

“You did so well today,” Thorin said gently, fingers stroking Bilbo’s shoulder. “I know it must have been really difficult, and you have no idea how proud of you I am.”

Bilbo only sniffled at this, burying his face further into Thorin’s t-shirt.

“You’re exhausted, and that’s okay,” he continued, hoping desperately that his words were reassuring for Bilbo… but, he supposed, if they weren’t, at least his voice might be, as Bilbo had told him before – just listening to him was a comfort. “Today’s been really long and really busy, but it’s just the two of us now, and I’m not going anywhere.” He kissed Bilbo’s pale forehead, as if to reiterate this fact.

Although he couldn’t really understand everything Bilbo was going through, he knew how scary it must be to go from feeling very little for years to feeling everything, and so he guessed all he could do was hold Bilbo and keep talking whilst he sorted through his emotions, hoping they would settle into place. Catharsis hurt like hell: Thorin had experienced it a fair few times now, since the bullet, but he was silently praying that Bilbo would come out the other side feeling a little stronger.

“I know it’s terrifying, feeling everything all at once,” Thorin continued, using Bilbo’s own phrasing to show he was trying to understand. “But it will pass, the wool will untangle itself… it’ll get sewn back together…and it won’t hurt as much.”

Thorin lapsed into silence, giving Bilbo some time to process his words and the events of the afternoon. He shuffled back into the pillows so he could lean against the headboard, and he carried Bilbo with him, the younger man still cuddling into his chest. It felt cosy and warm, the two of them wrapped together like this, and Thorin was sure he was drifting off into a dose when Bilbo spoke.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, no shake in his voice, as he turned his head to the side, ear resting against Thorin’s chest. “For helping me celebrate my birthday.”

“You’re very welcome,” Thorin smiled, nosing a few stray curls from Bilbo’s forehead, before dropping his voice to whisper: “I love you.”

“Love you,” Bilbo murmured, closing his eyes.

Thorin reached down and slowly pulled the bed’s extra blanket up and wrapped it around Bilbo’s shoulders. He sighed happily in response, and it almost made Thorin feel giddy.

Not for the first time that week, Thorin found himself thanking whatever omnipresent forces existed in the universe that Bilbo had been granted more time. And if Bifur was right, that it was up to a person to decide what they did with the time given to them, he knew he wanted to spend the rest of however much time he had left with the man currently falling asleep in his arms.

 

…

 

“So, this is the campus and city map I got in my post-offer pack,” Fili explained, unfolding the leaflet and smoothing it out on the over-bed table.

Thorin could hear the hesitancy in his niece’s voice as she spoke, but Bilbo only smiled, eyes scanning the map laid out in front of him. He knew that in the aftermath of last week, Fili was still having a few drop-in sessions with Radagast, and the nurse had suggested she talk to Bilbo about Birmingham to try and remove any ill-feelings she had associated with her university offer.

“Oh, Selly Oak Village,” Bilbo said, finger moving to a cluster of buildings on Fili’s map. “That’s where my first year halls were, though I’m hoping they’ve all been renovated now – I’ve never lived anywhere with so many plumbing problems!”

“Well, it’s apparently still the most popular student accommodation,” Fili said grinning. “I was looking at applying to live in Jarratt Hall.”

Their eyes met for a second, small smiles appearing simultaneously, and Thorin hoped this showed their acceptance of the universe drawing these parallels in their lives… that Bilbo knew ‘passing the torch’ to Fili was a good thing, that it meant she still very much needed his support and his wisdom in her life, just as her uncle did.

“So, my friend, Adam, got his Birmingham offer through yesterday and he was telling me there’s quite a good social scene on Broad Street… but we were both wondering if you know anything else about the uni night life?”

Thorin turned to Bilbo, trying not to raise an eyebrow. This wasn’t a question he had expected Fili to ask… He couldn’t really picture Bilbo, with his First and his academic prize, having said he spent four years sitting quietly in a library, knowing much about partying.

“Oh, Broad Street was still very much the hub of student nights out when I was there,” Bilbo replied. “But I spent most of my time in Southside: that’s where Birmingham’s Gay Village is… I had many a messy evening in the Nightingale, and I think a friend and I got banned from The Prancing Pony at one point.”

Thorin was sure his eyebrows had disappeared into his hairline as he stared at Bilbo… This revelation was truly an unexpected one, and he wasn’t really sure what to do with this information.

“What?” Bilbo asked, feigning affront as he looked at Thorin. “Just because I got a First doesn’t mean I didn’t enjoy myself at Birmingham.”

Thorin could hear Fili sniggering and his cheeks were growing hot. “I… I didn’t mean…”

A wicked smile appeared on Bilbo’s lips. “You know, I used to go out in eyeliner and a black mesh tank top… I was quite obnoxious when I was in my early twenties.”

Thorin’s mind immediately conjured the image of a younger Bilbo, eyes dark and painted with slightly-smudged black liner, his pale torso semi-visible through the mesh top, and his mouth flopped helplessly open, any suitable response vanishing in the wake of what was a very appealing picture.

“Hey, Uncle,” Fili said slyly. “You’ve got a little bit of drool, just here.” She tapped the corner of her mouth, and Thorin immediately snapped his lips shut into a tight line, only feeling his cheeks colour more.

Bilbo was still looking beyond amused at his reaction, and then he reached out and patted Thorin’s knee in a gesture of mock-sympathy. He still didn’t know what to say, and so he dropped his gaze to his lap, trying – but very half-heartedly – to get the image of twenty-something Bilbo out of his head.

“Okay, so as much as I’m really enjoying this awkward silence,” Fili said, turning to Bilbo. “I believe I’ve been called upon as your personal shopper and stylist today, Bilbo?”

As part of ‘Operation Ganesh’, Thorin had, as tactfully as possible, asked Bilbo if he might consider getting changed out of his pyjamas and hoodie: just for a couple of days a week at first, until they built up his wardrobe enough for him to get dressed every day. Bilbo had done it before, if only once, when Dwalin and Balin came to visit, and Thorin hoped a simple thing like wearing nice clothes might improve Bilbo’s views of himself and be a baby step towards what was the unspoken Holy Grail: his eventual discharge from Ered Luin.

After several successful online shopping excursions with his niece, Thorin had suggested they let Fili get involved and offer her advice on Bilbo’s new wardrobe. Not that he knew much about it, but Thorin still noticed that Fili’s own day-to-day fashion was both comfortable and effortlessly stylish. He was sure Fili wouldn’t steer them wrong, and he also thought they could use some of her dry humour to help with a situation which could have its potentially difficult moments. Bilbo had taken some persuading, but had finally agreed that morning – and Fili had been over the moon.

“My wardrobe is in your hands,” Bilbo said, with a warm smile.

“Also, I am totally up for doing your eyeliner – I’ve got my make-up bag in my rucksack,” Fili added, flashing a smirk in Thorin’s direction.

“A very tempting offer,” Bilbo replied, also smirking. “But I’m not sure it’d go with my current ensemble.”

“Well, we’ll just have to buy you something black and see-through,” Fili replied nonchalantly, and then suddenly she was clambering off the bed. “Right, I’ll go and grab the laptop.”

Thorin stared after her, his face growing red again, and then turned back to Bilbo. “Are you both trying to give me a heart attack?” he murmured, although he smiled to show he was joking.

Bilbo didn’t reply, only took Thorin’s hand, twining their fingers together.

“You never told me… about your nights out at Birmingham,” Thorin said quietly, worried he might have actually upset Bilbo with his aghast reaction.

“No,” Bilbo agreed slowly. “I suppose I knew you had this image of me being all studious and proper… I didn’t really want to ruin that.”

“You haven’t ruined anything,” Thorin replied, squeezing his hand, and then a smile appeared. “So… why _were_ you banned from The Prancing Pony?”

Bilbo was opening his mouth to reply when Fili reappeared in the room carrying an open laptop. Thorin tried not to let out a sigh of frustration: Fili was clearly spending too much time with Radagast.

Sliding the laptop onto the over-bed table, Fili positioned it so the screen could be seen by all three of them. This was the laptop Bilbo used to Skype Prim and Drogo, and Thorin knew Fili had discussed which sites they were going to use with Dr. Grey and Rosie so they could be unblocked. It had always gone unsaid, but Thorin knew a fully-functioning laptop with unlimited WiFi left in Bilbo’s hands could spell disaster. Coughing, Thorin tried to push that thought away and focus on the task at hand.

“Okay, so what do you want to look at first?” Fili asked, turning her bright blue gaze on Bilbo.

Bilbo had relinquished Thorin’s hand and now he was twisting his fingers in his lap, eyes scanning the site’s homepage. It was the first time Thorin had seen him looking out of his depth.

When Bilbo failed to reply, Fili made a suggestion: “I know you wore a grey cardigan when you met Dwalin and Balin, and Uncle thought you looked really fit, so maybe we could start with knitwear?”

This earned a smile. “‘Really fit’?” he murmured, looking at Thorin.

Thorin found himself blushing again. “I think the word I used was ‘gorgeous’, but ‘really fit’ also works.”

This time it was Bilbo’s turn to grow pink, and his ears in particular became very red. “Alright, cardigans it is… What are your suggestions, Fili?”

“You don’t want anything flimsy,” Fili replied, clicking on the appropriate menus to get them to a page filled with cardigans. “So I’m thinking some cosy, cable-knit cardigans? What colours do you like?”

Bilbo’s eyes moved down the page. “I like this dark green one,” he said, pointing at the screen. “And the blue one underneath.”

Fili nodded her approval, and then they both turned to Thorin. “Oh,” he stammered. “Er… I… I think you’ll look good in anything.”

More colour appeared in Bilbo’s cheeks as he smiled fondly over at Thorin, but Fili rolled her eyes. “As much as I’m sure Bilbo appreciates the sentiment, Uncle, it’s not actually very helpful… So green and blue cardigans, yay or nay?”

Thorin coughed. “Erm… yay?”

“Awesome,” Fili grinned, swiftly adding the cardigans to their online basket. “Hmm… How about jumpers? Want to take a look?”

Bilbo nodded, and so Fili clicked onto the page.

“Yell if you see anything,” she said, beginning to scroll.

“That one looks nice,” Bilbo said, pointing at the screen again. Fili clicked to enlarge the image. “Though I’m not sure about the stripes.”

Thorin smiled at the cream and black striped sweater, his hand touching Bilbo’s knee. “I think it’ll suit you.”

“Okay,” Bilbo said, his eyes then drifted to the corner of the screen. “Oh, but it also comes in burgundy and navy blue… I don’t know if I like that one more.”

“We could just, you know, get both?” Fili put in.

“You’re quite right,” Bilbo replied, smiling. “Both it is.”

Fili added them to their basket, and they continued scrolling. “Oh! How about a blazer?” she asked, mouse hovering over an ad in the site’s side-panel.

Thorin felt rather than saw Bilbo stiffen.

“I think that’s a little bit formal,” he said, and his voice sounded strange.

“Not necessarily,” Fili countered. “You could dress it down with jeans and a t-shirt.”

Bilbo’s fingers began pulling at the hem of his hoodie. “Yes, well, there still isn’t really any point… It’s not like I’d be going anywhere in it.”

Thorin could feel the tension rising as Bilbo became increasingly uncomfortable, and his heart began an ominous thump in his chest.

Fili opened her mouth to argue, but Bilbo cut across her: “There’s not actually much point in shopping at all… It’s a waste of time and a waste of money.”

Thorin heard the frustration and the self-loathing in Bilbo’s tone and he was worried that his words would upset Fili, but his niece had fixed Bilbo with a determined stare.

“Nope, I’m calling bullshit on that one,” she said firmly. “When I feel like crap and know I have no intention of leaving the house I still put on my skinniest pair of jeans and make sure my eyeliner is on point… I feel like shit, so I make sure I look fabulous. And I’m here to make sure you also look fabulous, so you better tell me which blazer we’re adding to the Bilbo Baggins Autumn-Winter Collection.”

Bilbo and Thorin both stared at Fili, and Fili simply stared back, the corner of her mouth twitching into a smile even as the fire remained in her blue gaze. Thorin knew Fili was bored of hearing how like her mother she was, but this was exactly why Thorin avoided arguing with his sister at all costs. He couldn’t imagine what it had been like a couple of years ago when mother and daughter had clashed on a regular basis.

Bilbo’s posture grew more relaxed as he exhaled slowly. “Fili, I’m sorry… I –”

Fili made a noise of rebuttal and held up her hand, surprising Bilbo once again. She really wasn’t going to let him feel sorry for himself. “No, no apologising… Just tell me which blazer you want or I’m picking out a really ugly one for you.”

“That dark red one looks nice,” Bilbo said quietly, obviously feeling well and truly told off.

“It does,” Fili agreed, unflappable expression still in place as she clicked on the blazer.

The next ten minutes saw a steady increase of clothes to their basket and Bilbo didn’t cross Fili again: he seemed to have learnt his lesson. They added several pairs of chinos and one pair of jeans to their collection, along with some shirts, t-shirts, and sweatpants. Thorin sensed they were nearing the end of their online shopping adventure when Fili made a very strange sound in the back of her throat.

“Oh my God!” she said, mouse moving over another ad in the side-panel. “We should get you a onesie!”

Thorin stared at the fully-grown man wearing a koala onesie and furrowed his brow. “He looks ridiculous,” he said. “You’re not putting Bilbo in that.”

Even as Fili clicked on the link, Thorin was expecting Bilbo to agree with him, but instead the younger man replied: “I don’t know: they do look quite snug and comfy.”

“You’re not serious?” Thorin asked, eyes moving over the brightly-coloured selection of onesies wearing an expression that was nothing short of disgust.

“Okay, but I’ll only get one if we also choose one for your uncle,” Bilbo said, turning to Fili.

“No,” Thorin said bluntly.

Bilbo grinned. “You’re not involved in this decision.”

“I still say no. I won’t wear it.”

“Alright, grumpy,” Bilbo said, squeezing Thorin’s knee. “You can pick out mine if I can pick out yours?”

“No.”

“Aw, come on, Uncle, don’t be such a spoil-sport!” Fili said, but then her expression – which couldn’t be seen by Bilbo – turned serious as she gestured to Bilbo’s smile. It clearly said: 'This is going to make your boyfriend happy, so you better bloody well do it or else.'

Thorin sighed. “Okay… Well, which one do you want?”

“That’s your decision, remember?” Bilbo prompted.

Thorin fought the urge to sigh again, but then leaned forward so he could see the laptop screen more clearly. His eyes moved over the selection of onesies, each one more embarrassing than the last, and then he suddenly let out a low chuckle.

“What about a rabbit onesie for ‘Little Bunny’?” he grinned.

Bilbo groaned. “I thought you might pick that one… Okay, rabbit onesie for me.” Fili dutifully clicked on the onesie. “So, Fili, which one shall we pick for your uncle?”

“Oh, I have a few ideas,” came Fili’s devious reply, and then she was pulling the laptop around so only she and Bilbo could see it.

“Why can’t I see?” Thorin asked, trying not to sound too sulky.

“Because you’ll probably smash the laptop if you see which one we choose,” Bilbo answered, smiling sweetly.

“My top three would be this one… this one… and this amazing bit of fashion right here,” Fili said, sounding positively gleeful.

“Oh, yes, I’m thinking this one will be perfect,” Bilbo said, his eyes impossibly bright as he pointed at the screen.

“You two are terrible,” Thorin said, and he was definitely pouting now.

“And it’s added to our basket!” Fili announced. “Okay, I’m going to take this to Rosie so we can check out.”

Before Thorin could launch any form of protest, Fili had whisked the laptop away to the nurses’ station. Thorin turned back to Bilbo rubbing a hand over his beard.

“Go on then,” he sighed. “What did you choose?”

Bilbo looked beside himself with giddiness as he answered: “The blue unicorn.”

“ _What_?”

“It has a glittery tail and mane and apparently the horn lights up.”

“You… you’re joking?”

“No.”

“Bilbo...”

“I can’t wait to see you in it.”

“I won’t wear it.”

“Oh yes you will, even if I have to get Gandalf to sedate you so we can put you in it.”

Thorin let out a long, wounded groan as Bilbo moved across the bed and pulled him into a consoling hug. As mortifying as the whole thing was, Thorin was secretly glad their online shopping had been a success. And if wearing a sparkly unicorn onesie made Bilbo happy, then of course, after some obligatory whining, Thorin would damn well do it.

 

…

 

“I… I have some, er, requests,” Thorin said, avoiding Dr. Grey’s gaze and keeping his eyes focused on the pad of paper in front of him.

“Alright,” Dr. Grey said, his smile making his blue eyes appear even lighter.

Thorin was trying to ignore the doctor’s obvious enthusiasm at his having actually brought something to their sessions. He had never put much active thought into their meetings, as previously demonstrated by his shoddily completed ‘homework’.

Tomorrow, Thorin was going to be discharged from Ered Luin for the second time. He knew Dr. Grey would want to talk about his feelings on the matter, about its impact on him, and so Thorin decided he would instead take the time to ensure Bilbo continued to make progress with him away from the hospital again.

“And are these requests part of your ‘Operation Ganesh’?” Dr. Grey asked, adjusting his glasses and their balance on his nose.

Thorin swallowed. “Bilbo told you about ‘Operation Ganesh’?”

“He did, yes.”

Thorin wanted to ask the doctor what Bilbo had said about it, what Bilbo thought about these attempts at making progress, and if he believed they were really going to work. However, he knew Dr. Grey would never break confidentiality, and so he didn’t push him to reveal anything further.

“And what is your first request?” Dr. Grey prompted, when he stayed silent.

Eyes moving to the pad in his lap, Thorin inhaled deeply before replying: “I want you to give the porter his job back.”

Dr. Grey studied Thorin carefully over the top of his glasses. “You mean the young man who was dismissed after your excursion to the Esgaroth Coffee House?”

“Yes,” Thorin said, trying to keep his voice even. “You know it wasn’t his fault, and Bilbo feels really guilty about getting him fired.”

“You think it wasn’t his fault that he willingly and knowingly accepted money from a patient in exchange for several items that ensured his successful escape from a secure psychiatric ward?”

Thorin felt a sharp twinge in his chest, but still he answered: “The kid was seventeen years old and…” Thorin fixed the doctor with a dogged stare. “You know how persuasive Bilbo can be. He fooled you and a whole team of trained doctors and nurses for months, why should Rowan lose his job for making the same mistake?”

Talking about Bilbo’s deception was difficult, and it sent more twinges across Thorin’s chest, but he knew speaking bluntly like this was needed to achieve his objective.

“I assure you, my dear Thorin, that no one on the ward has ever accepted bribes from any of our patients, no matter how persuasive their offer,” Dr. Grey said quietly.

“Oh, come on,” Thorin growled. “You don’t know about the kid’s home-life… Maybe he really needed the money. Wouldn’t you take the cash, if your family were struggling and you knew you could help them?”

Dr. Grey didn’t respond, and Thorin knew he was waiting for him to figure out the answer himself.

“Well, he’s hardly going to do it again, is he?” Thorin pressed. “Can’t you give him a job on another ward? Somewhere other than psych?”

There were a few agonisingly long moments in which neither of them moved or spoke, engaged as they were in a silent stand-off, but then the doctor began writing in the small notebook balanced on his knee. “I will make some enquiries with HR and see if there is anything we can do.”

“What?” Thorin said, stunned: he was sure he had been fighting a losing battle. “Really?”

A small smile appeared on Dr. Grey’s lips. “I admire your empathy, Thorin. I am also quite the advocate of second chances.”

“Right… Okay, er, thank you,” Thorin said, still surprised by his victory.

Dr. Grey dipped his chin in acknowledgement. “And your second request?”

Thorin found himself drawing in a deep breath and exhaling carefully again, preparing himself for the next battle. “I want to be able to stay overnight on the ward at least once a week after I’m discharged… Bilbo and I always sleep better when we’re together, and I know Bilbo hated the fact that I couldn’t spend the night with him when I was discharged last time.” Thorin paused, thinking back to the horrible night when Bilbo had broken his wrist and bled out all his fears over the phone. “Actually, you heard him say that… I know you did.”

“Yes, I am aware of this difficulty presented by your separation,” the doctor said calmly.

Before he could begin a counter-argument, Thorin continued: “I don’t have to eat an evening meal on the ward and, obviously, I won’t need an extra bed… I won’t have breakfast either, so it’s not like I’d be using your, er, resources… I’ll shower at home too.”

“I don’t object to your using our facilities, Thorin,” Dr. Grey said carefully, after a moment’s pause. “You are, after all, a registered outpatient and the ward is incredibly lucky with its funding… My issue is that many of our patients have partners and family who are also unable to stay the night. I do not have the staff to deal with a change of policy and I think a constantly busy ward would be detrimental to patients’ wellbeing.”

“I understand,” Thorin said, and he really did: he knew many patients would want their relatives to stay with them during those difficult night-time hours… but, selfish as it was, he couldn’t help thinking that Bilbo deserved a bit of special treatment. “With me being a registered outpatient, doesn’t that change things…? I mean, it’s for my wellbeing as well as Bilbo’s and…” His voice dropped as he tried to keep out the defeated tone. “Bilbo’s been here for three years, Dr. Grey… He’s tried to… to…” Thorin blinked back the unexpected tears as his voice wavered. “He’s tried to end his own life twice now, and I don’t think he’s going to get any better unless we make some of these changes… Please, will you at least think about it?”

Dr. Grey was writing something else in his notebook, and when his eyes returned to Thorin they were warm and bright. “You make a very persuasive argument, Thorin. I shall take the matter to Dr. Lorien and the Board, and we will organise a way forward.”

“You… you will?” Thorin stammered, once again surprised by the doctor’s acquiescence.

“Of course,” Dr. Grey replied. “Bilbo’s welfare is my priority, as is yours, and I will do all in my power to ensure we make a difference for both of you. Now, I believe you have one more request?”

Thorin knew better than to ask how Dr. Grey knew he had three requests written down on his pad, and so he bypassed that question and went ahead with his final objective: “I want Bilbo to be able to leave the hospital… even if it’s just for half an hour. He isn’t going to get better if you keep him trapped on the ward… So if you could let us go out for coffee again, let him come visit me at home… I think it’d really help him.”

For the first time that morning, Dr. Grey’s expression had grown a little more stoic and he took a while to reply: “Please know that I agree with everything you are saying, Thorin. However, I do not feel that Bilbo is currently able to cope with any form of escorted leave.”

Thorin’s heart sank into his stomach: this was the request he had been most invested in, but he supposed he had already known the answer. “You still don’t trust him,” he said quietly, unable to look the doctor in the eye.

“For the moment, I think leaving the hospital would present too many dangers for Bilbo. Until I have seen some concrete progress, I’m afraid I can’t allow him to leave the ward. Bilbo himself is aware of this, and he is in full agreement of the decision.”

“Okay,” Thorin said, trying and failing to fight against the feelings of disappointment settling at the bottom of his stomach.

“Do not see this as a defeat, Thorin,” Dr. Grey said gently. “I have said that Bilbo is not currently well enough for escorted leave, not that it is an impossibility for the future.”

This last comment made Thorin look up from his pad. “You… think he might be able to leave? Sometime soon?”

“I am not sure if we hold the same definition of ‘soon’,” the doctor answered. “But yes, I think we can begin to work towards an escorted leave. It is a goal which Bilbo has already set for himself, and he has given me permission to tell you this.”

Thorin couldn’t help the smile that suddenly spread across his face, and he had to blink back tears again. He wondered why Bilbo hadn’t told him about having this conversation with Dr. Grey, but he supposed with the escorted leave being a possibility rather than a confirmed event, and one resting upon his progress, he understood Bilbo’s reluctance to speak about it with him.

“And now, my dear Thorin, in light of your impending discharge, I feel we should be discussing your own progress,” Dr. Grey said, setting his pen down on his pad.

“There isn’t really much to say,” Thorin said, noticeably bristling.

“And why do you think that?” the doctor asked, caution in his voice.

Thorin sat up straighter in the leather armchair. “I’m okay… I’m fine. I’m not the one who needs to make progress.”

“And was it this notion that stopped you from attending Faramir’s support group yesterday?”

Thorin’s heart contracted in his chest. “What?”

Dr. Grey was studying him very carefully. “I am aware that Faramir told you that you were more than welcome to come to the support group last night, but you chose not to attend.”

Thorin’s gaze dropped to his pad once again. He was an idiot. Of course Faramir would tell Dr. Grey that he hadn’t been there… How on earth had he believed that he would get away with it? And now he felt like a rebellious student who was about to be reprimanded by the head teacher for truanting lessons.

“Bilbo needed me to be with him,” Thorin mumbled, still staring at the page in front of him.

“Did you tell Bilbo you had been invited to the support group?”

Thorin glared at the doctor. Of course he already knew the answer. “No.”

“And why did you elect not to share this with him?”

Thorin was sure Dr. Grey knew the answer to this question as well. “Because Bilbo would’ve tried to convince me to go… Well, he would’ve probably had Rosie or Poppy march me to the room… and I wanted to stay with him.”

Dr. Grey pursed his lips as he continued to study Thorin. “Were there any other reasons for your avoiding the support group?”

Thorin almost tore a page from his pad just so he had something to crush in his fist. “Okay, how about we play a game where you ask me questions and then answer them all as well?”

In response, the doctor only let out a low chuckle, looking completely unfazed by Thorin’s outburst.

“What’s so funny?” Thorin said sharply, aware that he still sounded like a rebellious teenager.

“I am simply trying to figure out if you and Bilbo have always shared the same recalcitrance, or if Bilbo is rubbing off on you,” Dr. Grey replied, smiling, and at this mention of Bilbo, Thorin felt his posture relax slightly as he let go of a long breath.

“I didn’t want to talk about Bilbo,” Thorin said, after a pause, and he began to fiddle with the corner of the page in front of him.

“I assure you, Thorin, that no one at the group would have brought up the reasons for your readmission,” Dr. Grey said, his voice surprisingly gentle. “For all their rambunctiousness, they are very tactful people.”

“I know,” Thorin murmured, eyes still fixed on the page in his lap.

Dr. Grey waited, pen stilled on his own page, and after a few long moments, Thorin admitted: “I didn’t want to see Graham.” The ‘why?’ was in the doctor’s expression, and so Thorin continued. “He… God, he was in love with Bilbo… Well, maybe not in love with him, but he still had pretty strong feelings at one point and… and I just don’t think I could’ve looked him in the eye… I’m guessing he hasn’t had a great reaction to… to what happened, and if I’d looked at him and seen… I don’t know, pain, or guilt, or anything else, I wouldn’t have coped.”

Thorin’s gaze finally returned to Dr. Grey. He couldn’t quite believe he’d been able to express his feelings so coherently… Well, coherently for him anyway.

“Thank you for telling me this, Thorin,” the doctor said kindly. “With your permission, I would like to pass your concerns onto Faramir, so that he can ensure the group never strays onto any topics you would rather not discuss.”

Thorin nodded. “Okay… You can do that.”

“As for Graham, I can tell you that he also did not attend the support group last night,” Dr. Grey continued, his tone once again careful. “I do not know if it was for similar reasons, but I do suspect you are both harbouring some of the same worries… Perhaps it would be good for you to attend a group meeting so you can assuage your fears?”

Thorin’s stomach squirmed a little at the prospect, but he still nodded.

There was another drawn-out moment of silence, and then Dr. Grey spoke again: “Thorin, I know that you and Bilbo have developed a very caring, very affectionate and mutually supportive relationship. I also know that at this present time you feel that Bilbo is the one who needs all of your attentions, and that his wellbeing is your priority… But I ask that you make sure you are also focusing on your own needs. You have had a very difficult year, and if there are times when you need to put yourself first, I want you to do just that.”

Thorin opened his mouth to speak, but the doctor added: “Bilbo is being well looked-after here, and I am sure that he would never begrudge you taking some time for yourself… So by our next session, I want you to be able to detail three times when you have done something for yourself and only yourself… even if it is something simple like taking a longer shower or choosing what you want to watch on the television. Will you do that for me?”

Thorin spent a long moment weighing up Dr. Grey’s words, and then he slowly answered: “I’ll try… but only if you promise to speak to HR about Rowan and Dr. Lorien about me staying overnight on the ward.”

Dr. Grey returned a wry smile at this attempt at bargaining. “I promise I will speak with the appropriate people.”

There was another moment of silence. “Can… can I, er, go now?” Thorin asked, cringing at the awkwardness of the question.

Dr. Grey’s smile only grew wider and warmer. “Yes, Thorin, you may return to Bilbo.”

Thorin nodded, closing his pad and getting to his feet. Leaving the office and stepping out into the corridor, he realised this might be the first time he had shut the door properly, not left it open or slammed it, and with this oddly encouraging thought, Thorin headed back onto the ward.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to Radioproxy for giving the rabbit and unicorn onesies the go ahead and, guys, I just want to thank you for all the recent recs on Tumblr! Your kind words about ‘Obstacles’ honestly mean the world to me, so I thought I better do a little rec of my own.
> 
> Here are all the WIPs I’m currently reading:
> 
> ‘Flowers and Flaws’ by Erinye  
> ‘Under New Management’ by frostyjack  
> ‘Teach Me Your Ways’ by airebellah  
> ‘Episodes from Middle Earth’ by paranoid_fridge  
> ‘The Unexpected’ by elyjah  
> ‘Walk Again’ by o_rcrist  
> ‘Sons of Jerusalem’ by seashadows  
> ‘Where Have All the Flowers Gone’ by perkynurples  
> ‘Home Sick’ by Margo_ Kim  
> ‘Shades of Red and Gold’ by lily_winterwood
> 
> These are some seriously great fics, so please do give them a read! 
> 
> And, again, thank you everyone for all your support, for your comments and kudos, for reading and bookmarking, and for just giving me a reason to smile every single day :)
> 
> [EDIT]: The wonderful beautyagegoodnesssize has made an amazing 'Obstacles' playlist and some of the songs and their lyrics are so spot-on for so many of the chapters. You can give it a listen here: 
> 
> beautyagegoodnesssize.tumblr.com/post/137185285199/this-is-my-totally-wrecked-but-hopeful-playlist


	41. Chapter 41

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you’ve ever wondered what it’s like inside Thorin’s head when he looks at Bilbo, just listen to ‘I Was Born to Love You’ by Freddie Mercury. Alternatively, you could watch the 1985 video and picture Thorin dancing about in Freddie’s place: it’s clinically proven to reduce grumpiness and alleviate stress. 
> 
> This update includes bilingual soppiness, a certain photograph from the early 2000s, with more Birmingham shenanigans for the wonderful GaiaYukari85 and extra snuggling for the lovely hpmiddleearth! 
> 
> Warning: The second section of this chapter features a panic attack. Please do let me know in a comment if you would like a trigger-free summary.

Thorin’s fingertips trailed over the back of Bilbo’s hand that was resting on the pillow by his head. Bilbo was watching him with half-lidded eyes, and whenever Thorin quickened his tracing, Bilbo’s nose would twitch and he’d make to pull his hand away, only to stop when they both started sniggering. It was a childish game, but it had kept them content and relaxed, lingering on the borders of sleep, for the past hour.

Fingers stroking over Bilbo’s pale knuckles, Thorin decided to tickle the skin and Bilbo pulled his hand away properly this time, hugging it to his chest with a laugh and a hushed ‘Thorin!’.

“Are you two still up?”

Rosie’s voice sounded from the doorway of Bilbo’s room. Thorin turned and propped himself up on one elbow as the nurse moved to the foot of the bed, but Bilbo’s stayed snuggled into his pillows, giving Rosie a half-hearted, sleepy glare. Thorin was surprised the nurse had interrupted what was, once again, his last night on the ward, but then he realised Rosie’s appearance was very probably part of the plan to differentiate Thorin’s discharge from his previous one. There was to be no pomp and ceremony, no sentimental rituals, nothing to make this feel like anything other than an ordinary night together – and if he and Bilbo had still been awake and whispering at three o’ clock in the morning at any other time, Rosie would definitely have something to say about it.

“Sorry, _Mum_ , we didn’t mean to wake you,” Bilbo grinned, and Rosie moved her hands to her hips.

“Do you have any idea how difficult it is to get my paperwork done when all I can hear is you two giggling?”

“Why don’t you go and work in the office?” Bilbo asked innocently.

Rosie returned a scowl, and Thorin suspected she didn’t want to admit that for all this was meant to be an ordinary night, she also wanted to be on hand, should they need anything.

“You’ve got half an hour, then if you’re both still awake I’m going to make you fill in my VTE prophylaxis audits whilst I go and have a nap.”

“Wouldn’t that be a breach of patient confidentiality?” Bilbo was obviously enjoying winding Rosie up.

The nurse narrowed her eyes and then began scribbling something on both Bilbo and Thorin’s charts before returning them to the box at the end of the bed. Thorin wondered if she was leaving an angry message for Dr. Grey.

“Alright, alright, I promise we’ll try and get some sleep,” Bilbo said, his tone softer.

Rosie returned a wry smile, and then disappeared from the room, closing Bilbo’s door a little further as she left. Thorin slid back down, resting his head back on the pillow; Bilbo pulled the covers over his shoulder and Thorin kissed his hand as it tucked them under his chin.

They shuffled closer to each other on the bed, arms and legs touching beneath the sheets, and were quiet for a long time. Thorin thought Bilbo was going to make good on his promise to Rosie about getting some sleep when the younger man murmured: “I’m glad you’re staying over on Saturday.”

“So am I,” Thorin replied, unable to stop the smile that crept to his lips. His request had been approved by both Dr. Lorien and the hospital’s board, and so he was allowed to stay over in Bilbo’s room once a week for the foreseeable future, as long as he “didn’t advertise his presence too much”. Both he and Bilbo (and probably Rosie) had had a good snicker at this phrasing, and there had been mentions of luminous clothing as well as a discussion of a rather more explicit nature.

And so this was not Thorin’s last night in the hospital, but the fact still remained that he was being discharged tomorrow, and this was why he and Bilbo were still awake in the early hours of the morning, as if they both thought avoiding sleep would stop the dawn from arriving. In this respect, Thorin supposed, his discharge was similar to the last. However, the recent successes with ‘Operation Ganesh’ were enough to keep the sickly feelings in his stomach at bay and allow him to at least enjoy these quiet pre-dawn moments with his boyfriend.

His thoughts idling over ‘Operation Ganesh’, Thorin found himself feeling particularly bold, and this led him to break the silence: “Dr. Grey told me an, er, an escorted leave is one of the goals you’ve set… in your sessions?”

Bilbo stilled, his eyes searching Thorin’s face in the dim light of the room, but then he answered: “Yes… It’s something I’d like to work towards.”

After the birthday party and the online shopping, Thorin had decided to give Bilbo a break from ‘Operation Ganesh’ and from even discussing his progress, just so he had time to sort through his emotions, lest that grey wool start ripping again. But with the mention of Thorin’s overnight stays, and them both cosy and relaxed in each other’s company, he thought he might give Bilbo the option to talk about the possibility of leave.

“I’d like to be able to see your house,” Bilbo continued, his voice low, when Thorin didn’t reply. “I think it might make it easier for me… If I can picture you in your room, in your kitchen, your garden… It’s… it’s been difficult, not being able to properly imagine what you’re up to when you’re away.”

Thorin reached for Bilbo’s hand beneath the covers and he twined their fingers together. “I’d love to give you the guided tour – you won’t be surprised by Fili’s room, it looks just like hers… Oh, and Kili’s very proud of his attic bedroom, I’m sure he’d love to show you around too.”

Bilbo’s expression definitely brightened at this prospect. “And your room?” he asked quietly, gaze flicking down, as if he was bashful at the thought.

“I suppose there’s not much to say about it,” Thorin replied. “You know about Fili’s whiteboard idea, everything’s blue, your books are on my shelf… and the bed’s too big.”

Bilbo let out a soft chuckle, before squeezing Thorin’s hand. “So… it’s big enough for both of us, then?”

Thorin saw a multitude of wonderful possibilities shimmering in Bilbo’s gaze: the same possibilities flashed in front of his own eyes, full of warmth and colour, and it almost made him giddy. He leaned forward and kissed Bilbo’s nose. “Oh yes,” he whispered. “It’s more than big enough.”

As he pulled away, Thorin saw a slight frown had appeared on Bilbo’s brow as he drew his eyebrows together, and now his gaze had become distant. It sent a twinge of pain down from Thorin’s chest to his stomach.

“Bilbo,” Thorin said gently, trying to coax him back. “We don’t have to keep talking about this, if you don’t want to.”

Bilbo’s eyes slowly moved back to meet Thorin’s. “No… no, it’s okay… It’s just…” He stopped himself, looking away again. “Gosh, that is a morbid thought.”

Thorin hoped Bilbo didn’t feel pressured into elaborating by his concerned expression, and he was about to voice this thought when Bilbo continued: “I suppose I resigned myself, quite a long time ago now, to the fact that one way or another… I would die in here.”

Thorin’s stomach squirmed in protest at Bilbo’s words and he swallowed to try and push away the sickly feelings crawling up his throat, but still, he found that he was glad Bilbo was being so honest and sharing even his most unpleasant thoughts with him.

“You… you won’t,” Thorin said, cringing at the strain he heard in his own voice, and then trying again, with a firmer tone: “That won’t happen, Bilbo.”

Bilbo’s expression was distant again, but less worrying than before: he seemed mostly pensive, almost in awe of something. “It’s all very… surreal,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “Realising that I… I might be able to leave here… All the places I can go… the things I can do that I thought… thought I’d never get the chance.”

Thorin had never heard Bilbo speak like this before. He was finally talking about his future as if he truly believed it could happen, and Thorin wasn’t about to let this moment pass and slip back into the fairy-tale realm of ‘What If’.

“Some of these places, I’d like to go with you… if that’s okay?” he asked, feeling his cheeks flush a little at how tentative he sounded. He supposed he’d never thought about this before: Bilbo had the whole world to rediscover when he was discharged, and maybe he’d want to go on a few adventures on his own.

“Thorin, your idiot is showing,” Bilbo grinned, and before Thorin had time to sulk, Bilbo was lifting their joined hands from under the covers and pressing a kiss to his knuckles which were, incidentally, now plaster-free. “Of course I’d want you to come with me.”

Thorin smiled at his own foolishness. “Good,” he murmured.

The giddy light of possibility returned to Bilbo’s eyes. “Just… just imagining it… One day, we could just go off and travel around Europe… Only the two of us…”

“And Dain,” Thorin put in, his face edging closer to Bilbo’s on the pillow.

“And Dain, of course,” Bilbo agreed. “It might be easier if we travelled by car then.”

“I’ll drive,” Thorin suggested, slowly joining Bilbo in piecing together a future for them that didn’t involve doctors and nurses and hospital beds. “You can be in charge of passports and forms and all the important stuff.”

Bilbo smiled at that. “Where would we go first?”

Thorin thought for a moment, rubbing his beard with his free hand. “Maybe we could start by going north, head up to Edinburgh to see my cousins.”

“Yes… Balin can show me around the University, the castle: we’ll park you and Dwalin in a nearby pub.”

“Sounds good to me,” Thorin said softly. “… Where else would you like to go?”

Bilbo thought for a moment, the crease of concentration Thorin loved appearing between his eyes, and then he answered: “I think we need to get a ferry across to France and go looking for your fishing boat and sign-post.”

“Okay,” Thorin agreed. “Are you going to make me turn the sign-post back if we find it?”

He expected Bilbo to insist on putting an end to ruining tourists' holidays, but instead the younger man replied: “I don’t know, I quite like the symbolism of it all: encouraging people to take the road less travelled.”

Thorin smiled at Bilbo’s quoting of Robert Frost. He was also quite pleased with himself for understanding the reference. “So… anything else you feel we should do whilst in France?”

“Oh, I’m going to drag you round Dunkirk and all the sites of the D-Day landings and all sorts of museums… and you’re not going to complain about it, because you love me.”

Bilbo kissed Thorin’s knuckles again as he gave a theatrical sigh. After realising what a ‘Bilbo’ thing to do that was, Thorin added: “But just so you know, you’re doing all the talking – my French is still as terrible as it was at Vili’s stag do.”

Bilbo blinked, then a smile appeared. “I speak French, so we’ll be okay.”

Thorin raised an eyebrow. “Fluently?”

“ _Bien sûr_.”

The cogs began to shudder and whir inside Thorin’s head, and he asked slowly: “Bilbo… How many languages do you speak?”

Even in the room’s dim half-light, Thorin could see a blush of embarrassment growing in Bilbo’s cheeks. “Five,” he replied carefully. “But that includes English and BSL.”

“ _Five?_ ” Thorin murmured. “You can speak five languages?”

“I mastered French and Spanish fairly easily, but Arabic was a real labour of love,” Bilbo explained, seeming to push past his bashfulness. “I, er, I have some conversational Italian, German, Russian, Urdu and Dari… Beorn started trying to teach me Swedish a few months ago, but something may have distracted me.”

He raised an eyebrow at Thorin, who could only return a fairly gormless stare. How had he not known this? His mind turned this new information over and over, slowly examining it from every angle. His first feelings were of love, of admiration, as he, yet again, received confirmation that Bilbo was one of the most interesting people he had ever met. His thoughts then moved to the combination of European and Middle-Eastern languages Bilbo had mastered, wondering if these were clues to where he had served during his time in the Forces. Finally, his mind took a few hesitant steps into a darker corner, before going ahead and throwing itself into the abyss. This was something, like the tales of his university antics, that Thorin would never have known, had Bilbo bled out on a bathroom floor last week…

“Thorin?” Bilbo’s voice was gentle as he placed a steady hand against Thorin’s bearded cheek. “What’s wrong?”

Thorin closed his eyes, focusing on the warmth of Bilbo’s palm in the hope that it would chase away the threatening ache inside his chest. He drew in a few deep breaths before opening his eyes again.

“I… I didn’t know,” Thorin said, trying to keep his voice from cracking. “About all the languages you can speak… You never told me.”

Bilbo seemed a little relieved at the answer. His hand moved down from Thorin’s cheek until he was wrapping his arm around his waist and pulling him into a hug. “It never came up, I suppose,” Bilbo replied, once he had made himself comfortable against Thorin’s chest. “I’m guessing you speak German, but we’ve never spoken about that.”

“I’m not sure I speak it very well,” Thorin said, resting his chin on Bilbo’s curls. “But it was enough to get by in Berlin.”

“I like German,” Bilbo said, sounding both sleepy and thoughtful. “But my accent is terrible… I was fluent in the Romance languages first, French and Spanish, and they’ve made it very tricky to get the German pronunciation right – I think I always soften the consonants too much.”

Thorin was about to ask for a demonstration when Bilbo continued: “I do love the way German is constructed, some of their words are fascinating: they sound like Old English kennings… Like slug being ‘Nacktschnecke’, which literally translates to ‘naked snail’… Oh, and turtle is ‘Schildkröte’, or ‘shield toad’.”

Hearing Bilbo speak a couple of words of German was more amusing than Thorin thought it would be: he could hear what Bilbo had meant about his accent. He wasn’t sure why the words for slug and turtle had wangled their way into his repertoire of fairly limited German, but still Thorin found himself offering a gentle correction: “Na _ckt_ schneck _uh_.”

“Hmm?” Bilbo shifted against his chest so he could look up at him.

“You need to pronounce the ‘t’ and the ‘e’,” he coached, before repeating, more slowly: “Na _ckt_ -schneck- _uh_.”

“Oh,” Bilbo said, before repeating the word with improved pronunciation.

Thorin smiled. “Good, now you can say ‘slug’ correctly in German, you’re sorted.”

Bilbo seemed pleased, despite Thorin’s good-natured teasing. He waited a few moments before whispering: “Ich liebe dich.”

Thorin pressed a kiss to Bilbo’s forehead, warmth and giddiness burning away the ache in his chest. “Ich liebe dich auch,” he murmured.

“Now we’re being soppy in two languages,” Bilbo said, and Thorin could feel rather than see his smile.

“We could get that up to about nine or ten,” Thorin replied, holding Bilbo closer. “What’s ‘I love you’ in Swedish?”

“I don’t know, but ‘It is now 3:37 am’ is Nurse for ‘For God’s sake, go to sleep!’”

Thorin and Bilbo wriggled apart enough to see Rosie once again casting a shadow across the floor from the doorway. This time Bilbo didn’t seem to have enough energy for snarkiness, and so he nodded, eyelids drooping as he snuggled back into Thorin’s chest.

“Sorry, Rosie,” he said quietly. “We’re going to sleep now.”

Rosie’s expression softened as her eyes moved from Bilbo to Thorin. “Okay, I’ll leave a note for Poppy: tell her to let you have a little lie-in.”

They mumbled their thanks, and then Rosie returned to her vigil at the nurses’ station. Thorin rubbed his nose against Bilbo’s forehead and the younger man blinked sluggishly up at him.

“You’re sure you’re okay to go to sleep?” Thorin asked carefully. He could feel the exhaustion finally creeping in, but he didn’t want to leave Bilbo awake and alone if this was actually all a ruse to placate Rosie.

“Yes,” Bilbo replied, fingers closing around Thorin’s pyjama top – a habit he had developed during Thorin’s second stay at Ered Luin. “I think we should try and get some sleep.”

“Okay,” Thorin said, letting out a breath.

And then he was tucking Bilbo’s head under his chin as the two of them decided to brave sleep together, both clinging to the idea that what the morning would bring would be no different to any other.

 

…

 

Thorin tried to keep his hand steady as he signed-out of the ward for the first time in a week. He flexed his fingers around Dain’s lead in his other hand and the Labrador nudged at his thigh, offering his encouragement. Dain was beyond excited to be going home and his tail hadn’t stopped wagging since Thorin had appeared with his rucksack and had taken hold of his lead. Thorin stopped trying to convince himself that he shared Dain’s excitement within the first few minutes, but still he made sure he put on a brave face for Bilbo, who was also standing next to him.

“Thanks, Thorin,” Poppy said quietly, returning the sign-out pad to its home under the desk.

In the spirit of making this second discharge appear much less threatening than the first, no crowd had gathered to see Thorin off that morning. Ori and Bifur were still in their own rooms, and only Dr. Grey and Poppy had been present to go through the paperwork. Equally, Thorin was being collected by Dis and Fili: Dwalin and Balin had stayed at home with Kili. Everything had been organised to create the minimum amount of fuss, in the hope that both Thorin and Bilbo would cope better with another separation.

If he was honest, Thorin now spared little thought for all these arrangements meant to differentiate this discharge from the first: all he was focused on was the fact that Bilbo had willingly agreed to see him off, at the nurses’ station, in front of his family. This decision alone spoke volumes, and was keeping the ache in Thorin’s chest at bay.

“Want me to take your bag, Uncle?” Fili asked gently, her eyes flicking to Bilbo.

“Oh… er, okay,” Thorin replied, shifting the rucksack strap down from his shoulder into his hand, before passing it over.

Fili swung the bag up onto her own shoulder without comment, and a silence descended over their party as Thorin and Bilbo stared at each other, unsure of how to say this good bye.

Urging Dain to sit, Thorin unwound the lead from his wrist and passed it over, the Labrador taking it and holding it dutifully in his mouth. Thorin moved forward then, feeling his eyes beginning to sting and his hands twitched towards Bilbo’s.

“I… I’ll s-see you on Skype in two hours,” he said, trying and failing to maintain his brave face, and he cursed the very noticeable stammer in his voice: he didn’t want to cry, he couldn’t do that to Bilbo.

“Come here,” Bilbo said quietly, and then he was pulling Thorin into a fierce embrace.

Thorin wrapped his arms around Bilbo, screwing up his eyes and feeling the tears beginning to build behind them. He let out a shaky breath and held Bilbo tighter, pushing his nose into his shoulder.

“Jag älskar dig,” Bilbo whispered, so only Thorin could hear. “That’s how you say ‘I love you’ in Swedish.”

He was sure he butchered the pronunciation, but still Thorin echoed the words, blinking back the tears that were now definitely blurring his vision. Bilbo slowly pulled away, moving his hands to Thorin’s chest and fanning out his fingers.

“Skype in two hours,” he said, and when he looked up at Thorin his green-grey eyes were also shining.

And then Thorin pulled Bilbo into a kiss. It was the first time they had kissed like this so publicly, and they probably kissed for a few beats longer than was comfortable for those watching, but Thorin found he couldn’t quite bring himself to care. Instead, he focused entirely on the heat of Bilbo’s mouth pressed against his and as hands moved to his neck, he moved his own up to cup Bilbo’s face. After several blissful moments, they pulled away, each drawing in a shuddering breath as their foreheads came to rest together.

“You should get going,” Bilbo murmured. “You don’t want to get caught in the lunchtime traffic.”

Thorin gave a teary laugh as he rubbed his thumbs over Bilbo’s cheeks. “Okay,” he replied, the word soft and quiet, and barely there. “Okay.”

Their hands dropped with telling synchronicity and after one last squeeze, Thorin turned away. He held out his flattened palm and Dain dropped the lead into it, getting to his feet, tail wagging furiously again. Dis and Fili came to his side, wearing identical smiles full of sympathy and a little strain, and then their party was being buzzed through to the lift. Thorin glanced over his shoulder and just before the ward doors swung shut, he saw Bilbo smiling after him, one hand raised in good bye.

The walk to the car was quiet and solemn. Thorin focused all his energy on putting one foot in front of the other, and although he was aware of his sister and his niece glancing towards him with concern, he didn’t say a word. Fili got in the back of the car with his rucksack and Dis lifted up the boot so he could get Dain settled. Dain could obviously sense his upset and he made sure he gave Thorin’s hands several generous licks as he unclipped his lead.

“Hey, I’m alright,” Thorin said, scratching the Labrador’s ears. “I’ll be alright.”

He was glad Dis didn’t comment when she shut the boot door and they moved to take their respective seats in the car.

“Do you want to listen to the radio, love?” Dis asked, as they pulled out of the car park. “Or shall we pop a CD in?”

“Radio is fine,” Thorin replied, avoiding his sister’s gaze and staring out of the window, trying to ignore the tight feelings in his chest.

The voices of BBC Radio Leeds and its traffic report filled the car and Thorin slumped further in his seat. He caught sight of Fili watching him in the car’s wing mirror, and so his eyes moved to the opposite lane of traffic as they began to navigate their way through the city centre.

It wasn’t until they had turned onto the quieter, greener roads and picked up speed that Thorin became aware of his shaking fingers. He pushed them into his lap and continued to look out of the window. They’d left the hospital far behind now… He’d left Bilbo far behind…

Thorin drew in a slow, deep breath, trying to be as quiet as possible so Dis and Fili wouldn’t notice, but the breath didn’t quite fill his lungs. The dull ache in his chest, which he had woken up with that morning, was now stretching out across his ribs, the pain wrapping itself around his heart, which seemed to be beating a lot faster than was necessary.

It was with a horrible pang in his stomach that Thorin realised exactly what was happening, but he fought to keep himself calm. He tried to suck in another breath, but again, the air was less than satisfying and he let out a choked sound when he attempted, once again, to keep quiet. And suddenly the car felt far too small, like he was trapped and hurtling away from his best source of comfort at fifty miles an hour.

 _Bilbo is fine_ , Thorin told himself. _Bilbo is sitting with Poppy right now; they told you he wasn’t going to be left alone at all for the first twenty-four hours, so he’s going to be fine…_

An image of silver scissor blades suddenly flashed at the forefront of Thorin’s mind and his hand shot out to grab the interior door handle as he struggled to keep his breathing steady.

“Sweetheart?” Dis said gently, looking across at him with concern.

“I… I’m fine,” Thorin choked out, as his heart thundered on, the pain in his chest only spiking.

“If you need me to pull over, I – ”

“I said I’m fine!” Thorin snapped, then immediately choked again as the vicious words left him breathless.

He sank back in the chair, fingers wrapped so tightly around the door handle his knuckles were white, and tried again to suck some air into his failing lungs. His vision was growing fuzzy as he stared out of the window and he could feel sweat forming around his jacket collar.

_Please, please just let me breathe… Bilbo is fine… Bilbo is fine… I’m the one who’s fucking struggling… I just need to breathe… Just let me fucking breathe… Please… Please…_

“Hey, Uncle, I need you to listen to me, okay?” Fili was leaning forward so that she was now right behind his chair and her voice was low and calm. “I’m just going to put my hand here so you can hold it, if you want, but if you’re not up for touching, that’s totally fine.”

Fili's hand appeared, hovering above his right shoulder, slack and unthreatening. Thorin tried to breathe again, his chest burning as the air stumbled into his lungs, and he pushed his head back into the headrest with more force than was probably necessary, letting out a growl of frustration. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Everything was supposed to be okay this time…

“Okay, okay,” Fili said softly. “I get that this is really shit and nobody is ever in the mood for a panic attack in a moving vehicle, but I’ve got a story to tell you, okay? It’s about Bilbo and his time at Birmingham.”

This succeeded in drawing a sliver of Thorin’s attention away from his knackered breathing.

“Bilbo… told you?” Thorin gasped out, twisting his head a little so he could see Fili’s smile.

“Yep, and it’s a good one,” she said, knowing she had piqued her uncle’s interest. Thorin didn’t miss the glance she exchanged with her mother, and then she added, her tone careful: “And you’re sure you don’t want us to pull over? Get Dain out of the boot for you?”

Thorin shook his head: he just needed to be at home as soon as possible, not either hunched over and vomiting in a lay-by or lying on the road with a Labrador on his chest.  

“Okay, so, the year is 2001, and Bilbo Baggins is in his second year at Birmingham,” Fili began.

A lorry suddenly thundered right past Thorin’s window and he choked on another breath, his hand immediately reaching up and grabbing for Fili’s. Fili barely flinched as she took his hand and she made no comment, simply carried on with her tale.

“As a History undergrad, Bilbo was, as expected, a member of the History Society, and every year, after Freshers Week, they have an informal ball where you have to dress up as historical characters, and thus in our story Bilbo finds himself wearing nothing but a bedsheet transformed into a very stylish toga as he staggers through a park, in October, in the early hours of the morning.”

Thorin was surprised by how quickly his mind offered up the mental image of twenty year old Bilbo in a home-made toga, and with this rather appealing distraction came a longer, deeper breath pulled into his lungs.

“Just to help you build that mental image,” Fili continued, in an act of unsurprising telepathy. “Bilbo is also wearing a green laurel wreath on his head and brown sandals, and as his toga has just barely survived a night on Broad Street, it’s kind of hanging off him so most of his chest is showing.”

“Those are essential details, are they, Fili?” Dis asked, with a hint of half-hearted disapproval, keeping her eyes on the road.  

“Very essential,” Fili grinned. “So Bilbo’s walking back with his housemates, who are dressed as Neil Armstrong and Henry VIII respectively, and all three of them are pretty pissed, but Bilbo is by far the worst of them.”

The anticipation, the desperate need to know where Fili’s story was going, was feeding more air back into Thorin’s shuddering lungs and his fingers twitched around hers.

“So they’re walking through this park and all of a sudden Bilbo just goes and climbs into the nearest tree.”

“ _What?_ ” Thorin spluttered, and Dis cast a questioning glance back at Fili.

“He climbs right up to the top of this enormous tree and starts yelling something about being a wood nymph, and when his friends tell him to stop pissing about and get down, he refuses.”

And I can’t even take my own clothes off or unlock my front door when I’m drunk, Thorin thought. But Bilbo, Bilbo can _climb a bloody tree_.

“They keep shouting at him to come down, getting more and more fed up – one of them even tries to climb the tree to get him, but Bilbo just moves higher, still singing about being a nymph or whatever… And then Henry VIII gets a bright idea.”

Fili made sure she paused for dramatic emphasis, and Thorin took the time to suck more refreshing air into his lungs, feeling his heart rate begin to slow.

“Henry VIII runs off and when he returns, he’s holding a massive stick. No idea where he got it from, but anyway, he comes back and then he starts jabbing Bilbo with the stick. Bilbo is screaming about the wrath of the Gods as Henry VIII keeps poking him, egged on by Neil Armstrong, until finally he prods him so hard that Bilbo loses his balance and falls right out of the tree.”

Thorin’s breaths became sharp and Fili quickly realised her mistake, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze.

“He lands with a pretty hilarious squawk, but apart from a twisted ankle and extra leaves in his hair, he’s completely fine… And so Bilbo the wood nymph had to be carried the rest of the way home by Henry VIII and Neil Armstrong. He wakes up the next morning, still in full toga, with a banging headache and a bed covered with leaves, and he doesn’t remember any of his tree-climbing activities… The End!”

Thorin managed a smile, slowly relinquishing his niece’s hand, and closing his eyes as he drew in a few more steady breaths.

“And how’re we doing now?” Fili asked gently.

“Better,” Thorin said, his throat feeling a little tight as he spoke, but still there was air rushing in and out of his lungs. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” Fili replied. “I’ve also got a little present for you, but Bilbo said you’re not allowed to open it until you’re back home in your room.”

Fili leant back and pulled a white envelope from her jacket pocket. Moving forward again, she held it out for her uncle. Thorin’s heart jolted and picked up its pace a little as he took the thin envelope and stared at his own name, written in Bilbo’s neat handwriting, on the front. He turned it over in his hands, but that’s all there was.

“Have you opened it?” Thorin asked, raising an eyebrow as he tried to feel out the envelope’s contents.

There was a pause before Fili’s wry response: “Nah… I kind of figured there’s the possibility it might be nudes or something, so I thought, better not.”

“Fili!” Dis said, turning to glare at her daughter, but Fili only shrugged.

Thorin continued to study Bilbo’s gift, wondering how on earth he and Fili had managed to organise this without him realising, but then again, he supposed his boyfriend and his niece were certainly clever enough to outwit him.

“Home again,” Dis announced, with a smile.

Thorin’s eyes jumped up from the envelope. He hadn’t even noticed the car had stopped moving, and now they were sitting in their driveway.

“Okay?” Fili whispered, her hand reappearing in the periphery of Thorin’s vision, and he nodded.

Sliding the envelope into the inside pocket of his jacket, he managed to unclip his seatbelt despite the lingering tremble in his fingers. Dis had already opened the boot when he made his way round the car, and neither she nor Fili commented when he took a few moments to give Dain a good scratch and a hug.

They found Dwalin, Balin, and Kili watching a film in the living room. His cousins both gave him hearty greetings and Kili grinned at him with a “Hi, Uncle Thorin!”. It wasn’t lost on Thorin that his nephew made to jump off the sofa, but Kili seemed to stop himself just in time and instead settle for another wide grin. He supposed Kili had been told to give him some space when he first arrived home, and at that moment, as much as he loved his nephew, he couldn’t deny he was rather glad of it.

“I… I’m just go-going to unpack,” Thorin said quietly, wincing when his voice broke.

“Okay, laddie,” Balin said, brown eyes twinkling. “You get yourself settled in.”

“And when you’re, uh, ready… Kili and I were thinking we’d go to the park, take a ball, have a bit of kick about, if you fancy it?” Dwalin said, fiddling with a tear in his faded jeans.

“Okay,” Thorin replied, and, because he knew he could do better than that, he added: “I take it you’re still a crap goalie?”

“Oi, I resent that,” Dwalin growled, although he was smiling. “It was one own goal in 1998 and you can’t let it go.”

Thorin returned his smile and then, with a self-conscious cough, turned away towards the stairs.

“Need any help?” Fili whispered, as they ascended the stairs together and she handed his rucksack over.

“I… I think I’ll be okay,” Thorin replied, shouldering his bag.

“Cool, well, give me a shout if you need anything.”

They parted ways, returning to their respective rooms. Thorin pushed the door shut behind him and dropped his rucksack onto the floor. It wasn’t until Dain nudged at his hand that he realised he had been standing, facing the door, for quite some time. Scratching Dain’s ears, he shuffled into the room and sat down on the edge of his bed, looking towards the window. It seemed strange, that it had only been a week since he’d been here… It felt like so much longer. His mind was suddenly filled with images of waking up on that black Thursday morning, of the sickness in his stomach and knowing something was wrong, but then he pushed his fingers into the thick fur of Dain’s neck and told himself to breathe. He thought, instead, of Bilbo in his toga, climbing a tree and proclaiming himself a wood nymph. That image alone brought his smile back.

It was then that he remembered the mysterious envelope in his pocket. Unclipping Dain’s lead and leaving it in a coiled, snake-like pile on the bed, he pulled the envelope from his jacket. After studying Bilbo’s handwriting for a few long moments, he carefully peeled open the paper flap and reached his hand inside. His fingers closed around a single sheet of thick paper, he pulled it out and then, quite unexpectedly, he burst out laughing.

It was a photograph, slightly curling at the corners, of Bilbo whilst he was at Birmingham. He was standing at the centre of a group of friends – all of them sporting various kinds of jewellery made from what appeared to be glow-sticks – and he was sticking his middle finger up at the camera. Best of all, he was wearing a see-through, black mesh tank top and his eyes were dark with make-up. It was a better image than his mind could have conjured, and Thorin found himself both chuckling and stifling a sob at the same time. Turning the photograph over, he found Bilbo had written something in pencil in its bottom corner: _The Nightingale, Friday 14 th September, 2002. _

So this was what Bilbo had meant by ‘many a messy evening’ at The Nightingale. Flipping the photograph, his eyes travelled over Bilbo again, wanting to take in every detail and commit it to memory. His honey-coloured hair was slightly longer than it was now, but just as curly. His face was healthy, almost glowing, and rounder. There were no dark shadows beneath his eyes and the cute little pouch of his stomach was visible through the mesh top. He looked beautiful. And, more than anything, he looked happy… so unbelievably happy. Thorin decided there and then that, if he needed to, he was going to move Heaven and Earth to make sure Bilbo was that happy again.

After ogling – because there really was no other word for it – the photograph for another few moments, Thorin turned to his bedside table and carefully propped the photo up against the silver frame which held a picture of him with Fili and Kili when they hiked up Cringle Moor. His younger self was grinning up from the photo and Thorin remembered that he had felt so happy that day, so relieved to be home and spending time with his family.

He also remembered what it had been like to believe he would never be happy again… but still he had managed it. And so maybe, just maybe, he could help Bilbo get there too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I fully intended to include the onesies in this chapter, but then I hit 6,000 words and it was getting late, so I’m really sorry, guys! I promise the onesies will arrive in the next update and I’ll do my best to make the whole thing as hilarious as possible, and do let me know if there’s anything in particular you’d love to see in that scene ;) 
> 
> To tide you over, I thought I’d share with you my ‘Thorin and Bilbo Snuggle Scenes’ playlist:
> 
> ‘All I Want is You’ – Barry Louis Polisar  
> ‘Always Summer’ – Brideshead Revisited OST  
> ‘Be Mine’ – Alice Bowman  
> ‘Can’t Help Falling in Love With You’ – Haley Reinheart  
> ‘Come On Up to the House’ – Tom Waits  
> ‘Holding On’ – Johnny Stimson  
> ‘Hummingbird’ – Miss E  
> ‘Lay Me Down’ – Sam Smith  
> ‘Steal Back’ – Aunt Martha  
> ‘To Be Alone’ – Hozier  
> ‘True Colours’ – Studio Killers
> 
> As always, I’m really sorry there aren’t any links. I swear my gran is more technologically adept than I am!


	42. Chapter 42

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Denial isn’t just a river in Egypt.” – My dad, and many other dads.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! So, after I posted Chapter 41, I had a low-key crisis. In true Bilbo-esque fashion, I had an attack of self-doubt with a little dash of self-loathing on the side. However, after a couple of hour-long phone calls with the wonderful Caffin9, I found my way back and decided the best forward was to get another update to you all. And so, without further ado, here’s Chapter 42…

“And just hit this green button here when you’re ready.”

Thorin tried not to let his surprise show in his expression as Fili rose from the bed. He’d expected her to stay and exchange pleasantries with Bilbo before excusing herself, like the last time he’d used her laptop to Skype, but something in Fili’s reserved demeanour indicated that she thought this call was a little different.

“Thank you,” Thorin said quietly, maintaining his faux-neutral expression, trying to hide his concern.

Fili only returned a small smile before slipping soundlessly from the room. Thorin stared after her for a few long moments, brows knitted, before his gaze slowly returned to the light blue screen in front of him. Maybe his niece was still worried about him after his panic attack in the car, but he’d assured her that he was fine now: with her adept recounting of Bilbo’s toga’d antics, she had brought him back.

Several eyebrows had been raised when, after finishing his unpacking, Thorin declined the invitation to play football in the park. He had insisted he was just too tired, but really he’d been scared to leave his phone somewhere other than his jeans pocket whilst they played. Equally, signal was sometimes sporadic in the vast green spaces of the park… and he couldn’t bear the thought of missing a phone call.

And now it was his turn to make the call. He knew Bilbo was sitting on his bed in front of a laptop, waiting for him. The mouse was hovering over the little green button Fili had pointed out, but somehow Thorin was struggling to lift his hand to click it. Instead, he lifted his fingers to the thick fur at Dain’s neck, and the Labrador snuggled closer into his side, resting his head on his knee. Thorin looked at the screen again and drew in a slow breath.

There was a stone sitting at the bottom of his stomach. He hadn’t noticed it at first, not when he was propping Bilbo’s photo against the silver frame on his bedside table, not when he was unfolding his clothes and returning them to their drawers, but now… now the stone was cold, and hard, and heavy, and it seemed to be keeping Thorin motionless on the bed.

Thorin almost jumped out of his skin when Fili’s laptop gave an unexpectedly loud chime, and then a message appeared at the bottom of the screen.

_Everything okay? :)_

Breathing heavily through his nose, Thorin let his shoulders sink, and Dain shifted against his leg, giving his wrist a lick. He was being ridiculous. There was no reason for him to be scared of clicking the green button. Eyes returning to the odd, sideways smiley face Bilbo had sent, Thorin tried to rearrange his own expression into one of warmth, of reassurance. Drawing in another breath through his nose, he reached forward and hit the button.

The call tone immediately sounded from the screen, but it was abruptly cut off after only two rings as Bilbo’s face appeared, a little pixelated at first, but then it settled into focus so Thorin could see his boyfriend’s grin clearly.

“I thought you were going to stand me up,” Bilbo said, and although there was humour in his voice, Thorin also detected a hint of relief.

“No,” Thorin replied, cringing as he heard the strain in the word. “No,” he repeated. “I… I think I, er, hit the wrong button.”

Bilbo’s smile became fond. “You mean you missed the big green one with the video camera on it?”

Thorin shifted on the spot, feeling the stone slide with him. The horrible thing was that he knew Bilbo actually believed his lie and simply found his technological shortcomings endearing. He swallowed, as if trying to soften the stone in his stomach, but when this didn’t work he settled for scratching Dain’s ears instead. Why was he feeling so uncomfortable? What was it that he was afraid of…?

“So… you’re all unpacked then?” Bilbo asked gently, and Thorin knew his silence was already worrying him. He needed to try harder.

“Yeah,” he answered. “All sorted… and, er, thank you… for the photograph.”

Thorin reached forward and turned the laptop slightly so Bilbo could see past Dain to the bedside table where the infamous photo was waiting, his younger self jovially waving a middle finger in his direction.

“Oh, Thorin! I didn’t think you’d put it on display like that!” Bilbo said, and there was an attractive blush creeping into his cheeks.

“It’s a nice photo,” Thorin replied, managing a smile, wishing he had a better command of the English language so he could use an array of more interesting adjectives to describe just how he felt about the photo. “I want to be able to look at it.”

“But what if Kili sees it?” Bilbo said fretfully, eyes lingering on the picture. “I mean… I’m _swearing_ and my nipples are hanging out…Your sister will skin us both!”

Thorin almost choked at Bilbo’s comment about his nipples and something else jostled the stone in his stomach, but then he coughed to clear his throat. “Okay… I, er, I didn’t think about that… I can put it away…”

Leaning back, Thorin picked up the photo and opened his bedside drawer, carefully placing it inside with the reverence of one handling a holy relic.

“So, what have you been up to since you unpacked?” Bilbo asked, with an easy smile… but Thorin didn’t miss the scrutiny hidden in it.

Thorin’s mind immediately dragged him back to the car. His knuckles were white as he clutched the door handle. He was slamming his head back against the headrest, fighting to breathe. Unable to look at Bilbo, Thorin’s fingers moved to the fraying hem of his jeans. Had Fili rung the hospital and told them about the panic attack? Was that why she had been acting strange? Gaze finally returning to Bilbo, a voice inside Thorin’s head urged him to lie again. There was no point worrying him now, not when it was over and done with.

“Not much,” Thorin shrugged, but the movement felt stiff, forced. “I… I went to the park with…” He stopped. How could he lie to Bilbo’s face like this? He couldn’t… He couldn’t lie… but he didn’t want to talk about the panic attack either, and so Thorin said nothing at all.

“Thorin?” Bilbo murmured, moving the laptop closer to him on the bed. “What is it…? What’s wrong?”

The stone had grown whilst they were talking. Thorin could feel its cool, jagged edges digging into his stomach, scraping against his insides.

“I… I had a panic attack,” he admitted, one hand going up to rub his beard as he exhaled steadily.

Bilbo’s expression immediately became sympathetic, and for some reason, it made Thorin bristle. Maybe telling the truth hadn’t been such a good idea after all.

“When you got home?” Bilbo asked quietly.

Thorin shook his head. “In the car,” he said, voice becoming hoarse. The stone was stirring now as something Thorin suspected was anger began to bubble up inside him.

“What happened?” came Bilbo’s next, measured question.

Thorin hunched his shoulders, his gaze growing dark. “I couldn’t breathe, felt dizzy, trapped… the usual,” he said, words sharper than he’d intended.

Bilbo stared at him, and the look in his eyes clearly communicated his answer: _You know what I meant, what triggered you?_

But Thorin wouldn’t give him the response he wanted. If Bilbo wanted to be a masochist, he wasn’t going to help him get there. The stone was swelling, digging into his ribs, frosted over with anger.

“It doesn’t matter,” Thorin stated, trying to keep his tone even. “It’s over… Fili talked me round. I’m fine.”

Bilbo studied him for an unnerving amount of time before replying: “You’re not fine, Thorin.”

There was a white hot flash behind Thorin’s eyes as the stone pressed into the bottom of his lungs.

“I’m sick and tired of people telling me I’m not fine!” he snapped, and he saw Bilbo flinch, but it didn’t stop the tirade: “I know how I’m feeling… and I’m okay, so you can stop looking at me like that!”

Bilbo’s lips had become a thin line, as if he was holding his reply inside him, being the tactful one as always. And so he remained silent as Thorin huffed a few short breaths, eyes turned away from the screen. He was doing a brilliant job of showing just how fine he was, and this thought only aggravated him more, the anger clawing at his insides, feeling as if it were drawing blood.

Thorin’s gaze returned to meet Bilbo’s, and he knew the younger man was waiting for him to admit defeat, but he refused to back down this time. “I don’t have to tell you anything,” he said in a growl, tempted to be truly petulant and hang up their call.

Bilbo was quiet for an infuriatingly long time and Thorin could hear blood rushing in his ears, but then he said softly: “No, you don’t… But I thought we’d agreed to be honest with each other?”

The stone might have cracked a rib for all the pain that suddenly spiked across Thorin’s chest. “Honest?” he said, sounding hollow. “Because honesty’s always been your strong point, hasn’t it?”

Bilbo winced again, and he was suddenly looking very pale. _Stop_ , a voice whispered, _stop this right now_.

“Thorin…” Bilbo's eyes were shining.

Thorin waited to see if there would be anything more, but Bilbo had gone quiet again. The anger was still prickling inside his chest, crawling up his neck, keeping his shoulders hunched, and so he tried to focus on his breathing instead of offering an answer.

“Okay…” Bilbo breathed. “Okay, I know I’ve lied to you…” Thorin didn’t miss it when his voice caught, but he continued: “I… I know you still don’t trust me and I do understand why you can’t at the moment but… but I’ve been trying really hard to be honest with you since…” There was that wince again, but Thorin still couldn’t force himself to say anything. “It’s really difficult, alright? Being so open with you about… everything…” There was an edge growing, like a shard of ice, in Bilbo’s tone as he began pulling at his grey hoodie. “About the grey wool… my depersonalisation… all of it is really… really _fucking_ difficult… and if you can’t be honest with me, I –”

There was another crack inside Thorin’s chest and suddenly his fingers were fists in his lap. “But I can’t be honest with you, can I? Because I’m terrified that if I tell you the truth, you’ll blame yourself and freak out and go and slit your fucking wrists again!”

The words left Thorin’s mouth before he could think, before he could stop himself, and then suddenly they were gone from his lips, hanging in the air between him and Bilbo like thick, poisonous smoke. Frozen in place, Thorin’s fingers slackened and shivered, his vision beginning to blur.

_Oh fuck._

Bilbo was staring back at him, the hurt cut across his face like a wound, and he was motionless, the dribbling tears sticking to his white cheeks as if the screen had actually frozen. But then he was suddenly looking up, murmuring to someone beyond his own laptop screen as he hastily reached up and wiped at his eyes. Thorin heard Poppy’s concerned tones, but Bilbo’s replies were so quiet that he couldn’t make out his words.

Regret slunk its way around the stone in Thorin’s stomach: he had seen Bilbo cry many times before, but this was the first time he had felt personally responsible. He had made Bilbo cry, and the anger remained, tensing the muscles in his shoulders, across his back, only now it was looking inward, pointing its spears at Thorin for being so childish.

Poppy’s voice died away and then Bilbo was looking at him, his grey eyes clouded with tears. “You’re still angry,” he said quietly.

“Of course I’m still angry!” Thorin retorted, before promptly cursing his own stupidity. _Stop it_ , the voice urged again. _Stop making this worse, you fucking moron._

Bilbo appeared calmer as he tentatively reached up to wipe his eyes again. “And that’s okay.”

“Don’t say that! None of this is okay!” Thorin shouted. He couldn’t take it, Bilbo being so understanding when the anger inside him was desperate for a fight.

“Thorin –”

“I’m so scared of losing you, Bilbo… That’s it, that’s why I had a panic attack literally ten minutes after leaving you, and I… I really hate you for it.”

Thorin’s voice came out as a wounded groan as he felt the first stinging tears trickle into his beard. He had just told Bilbo he hated him. He’d made him cry and then he’d told him he hated him. What a fucking brilliant boyfriend he was. The stone grew harder and colder at the thought… This wasn’t supposed to be happening. Things were supposed to be so much better the second time around. They’d done everything they could to make sure it was going to be different this time.

Dain’s head suddenly appeared beneath the crook of his arm and then the Labrador was scrambling determinedly into his lap. Bilbo’s face was blocked from view as Dain twisted himself around, giving Thorin’s hands and arms generous licks, and then he slumped down, head resting once again on Thorin’s knee. Thorin’s hands moved through his fur before he risked a glance at Bilbo, who was crying again. The stone scraped against the bottom of Thorin’s lungs.

“I know,” Bilbo said slowly, a definite tremble in his voice. “I know why you’re scared, but I… I can’t promise you I won’t try again… I know that’s not what you need to hear, but I won’t lie to you…”

Thorin let out a horrible sound, somewhere between a sob and a whimper, and his arms moved to wrap around Dain as Bilbo’s words cut their way through his ribs to his heart.

Bilbo was suddenly moving closer to the screen. “But… But right now, I don’t want to die, and it’s been a very long time since I’ve been able to say that…”

Thorin’s heart seemed to still for a fraction of a second as he looked up from Dain’s fur.

“I don’t want to die, Thorin,” Bilbo repeated, and somewhere amongst the watery grey there was a hint of green in his gaze. “I… I know you might not believe me, but… but it’s true… and I know it might change tomorrow, or in the next hour, but I… I don’t want to die, I just want to help you stop hurting… I… I just don't want you to hurt anymore.”

Letting out another broken sound, Thorin shifted forward, wanting to be as close to Bilbo as possible as the words reverberated through his whole body, shining through his wounds like light from high windows, and slowly, very slowly, the stone began shrinking, growing warm, crumbling inside his chest.

_I don’t want to die, Thorin…_

Inching even closer to the laptop, Thorin lifted his trembling fingers and placed them gently against the corner of the screen. His mouth opened, but he couldn’t find the words.

Bilbo seemed to be struggling too, his fingers flexing around the hem of his hoodie, but then he spoke: “Tut mir leid.”

His accent was, once again, a little off, but still Thorin understood. Maybe it was easier to apologise in German, the language offering a sense of safety and distance.

He felt the shrunken stone splitting in half as he replied: “Tut mir leid.” He stressed the long ‘I’ sound in ‘leid’ by way of gentle correction, and then realised Bilbo might think this was only a correction and that the words weren’t sincere, weren’t meant.

“I’m sorry,” Thorin repeated, in English this time, his voice thick, with an edge of strain. “I’m sorry I shouted at you.”

Bilbo had produced a handkerchief from his hoodie pocket – something Thorin hadn’t seen since his episode under the bed almost five months ago – and was quickly dabbing at his eyes. Some colour had returned to his cheeks and he managed a small smile.

“I’m sorry, if I pushed you too far,” he replied, pocketing the handkerchief.

“No… I… I think I needed you to,” Thorin whispered, his fingers tracing the soft fur of Dain’s neck and the Labrador looked up at him, brown eyes bright and alert. “I needed to… to get that out of my system.”

Thorin was finally realising that his wounds would never have healed properly without this confrontation. He might have ripped them open again, but maybe it was only like resetting a poorly placed broken bone. And some good things had come out of their heated exchange.

_I don’t want to die, Thorin._

Thorin heard Bilbo’s words in his ears again, and the more his mind whispered them, the more light filled the cavern in his chest where the stone was still rolling itself smaller and smaller, shrinking down into his gut.

“You knew?” Thorin asked, after a few silent moments had passed between them. “You knew I’d have a panic attack when I left?”

Bilbo slowly dipped his head. “I knew you were struggling, even if you didn’t realise it yourself… I… I was a coward, really. I avoided confronting you whilst you were here… which, again, was a fault on my part.” He drew in a slow breath. “I knew something would happen at some point after you left… so I spoke to Fili, made sure she was prepared for when your episode hit.”

Thorin hung his head at this, feeling heat creeping up his neck. So Bilbo had expected him not to cope, Fili too. He rubbed a hand across his beard.

“I know you don’t want me to say it’s okay,” Bilbo said carefully, and Thorin lifted his eyes back to the screen. “But… it has only been a week, Thorin. It might not be okay, but it’s still understandable… a, well, a logical reaction. So, please, don’t be so hard on yourself… You told me you’d need some time to get your head around this, so make sure you give yourself that time.”

Thorin nodded, and then a wry smile appeared. “You sound like Dr. Grey.”

“Well, you did once tell me to apply for a job here,” Bilbo replied, sharing his smile. There was another pause, before he added: “Have you said anything to Gandalf…? About how you’ve been feeling?”

“Not really,” Thorin said, thinking back to the conversation he had had with the doctor about his failure to attend Faramir’s support group. But maybe this wasn’t strictly true: he had spoken to Dr. Grey about his reasons for not attending.

“Okay,” Bilbo murmured. “So would you mind if I added another mission objective to ‘Operation Ganesh’?”

Thorin’s heart gave a dull twinge, but still he straightened. “You can submit an objective request to your commanding officer for approval.”

This earned a grin from Bilbo and more light poured into Thorin’s chest. “I want to ensure you, my dear Thorin, continue to make your own progress.”

“Okay,” Thorin said quietly, blinking away the last of his tears, his cheeks feeling a little tight with dried water. “And how do you propose this objective is achieved?”

“You’re going to the next support group meeting, even if I have to drag you there myself, and you can kick and scream all you want, it won’t work.”

Thorin ignored the faint pang in his stomach as he thought of Graham, and he also wondered when Bilbo had cottoned onto the fact that he hadn’t attended the last meeting. “Noted.”

“Have you asked about returning to work at the AFCO?” came Bilbo’s next question.

“I… I’m waiting for Dr. Grey to give me the go-ahead, to say I’m… fit for work.”

“But you do want to go back?”

“Of course,” Thorin replied, without missing a beat. He had only been working at the AFCO for a short time, but suddenly found he was already missing the feeling of freedom it gave him, along with the feelings of competence, of responsibility.

“Okay, so that’s something you can work towards,” Bilbo smiled.

“Any other proposals?”

Bilbo shifted his cross-legged position. “I just think you need to do things that… that don’t revolve around me,” he said, suddenly sounding hesitant. Thorin opened his mouth to protest, but Bilbo continued: “I’m not going to be offended, Thorin. But you need to throw yourself back into your reintegration… Get Fili to take you out shopping, play football with Kili… You said you wanted to take up running again, to get back in shape… So why don’t you go for an early morning jog in the park? You should ask Faramir about the different activities you can do with Dain – if he knows of any other groups you could go to.”

Thorin felt a little overwhelmed by this wave of suggestions and he, again, tried to ignore the thought of Graham, knowing Bilbo had probably intentionally avoided mentioning him having a running partner.

“You… you’ve already thought about this,” he said slowly.

Bilbo only grinned at him. “You told me ‘Operation Ganesh’ is a team effort, so I’d be a poor strategist if I hadn’t thought about it.”

Thorin nodded, feeling some exhaustion seeping in. His hand then unconsciously returned to the screen, fingertips pressed against the flat surface. “I wish I was there with you,” he whispered, a sudden need for physical contact making itself known.

“I could do with a quick snuggle right now,” Bilbo said, expression sympathetic. “Why don’t you come back in for the evening visiting hours?”

Thorin frowned. Dr. Grey had said it would be best if they didn’t see each other again that day, just so they both had enough time to adjust. “Dr. Grey thinks it… wouldn’t be a good idea,” he stated lamely.

“Well, fuck what Dr. Grey thinks, I want to see you so I can give you a big hug,” Bilbo replied, his smile wicked, almost conspiratorial.

“Okay,” Thorin said quietly, wanting nothing more than to have Bilbo pull him into his arms. “I’ll ask Dis if she’ll drive me in.”

Bilbo was looking up from the screen again, and someone was murmuring out of sight. It was with a drop in his stomach that Thorin recognised Dr. Grey’s voice. Well, that certainly explained the sheepish look on Bilbo’s face.

“I’ve got to go, love,” Bilbo said, his expression contrite. “Is that okay? I can stay on with you, if you want… I can run pretty fast and I think the basement still has Wi-Fi.”

Thorin let out a soft chuckle. “It’s okay… I… I’ll see you soon.”

“See you soon,” Bilbo agreed, before his smile became warm, focused entirely on Thorin. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Thorin’s fingers brushed the screen, there was a long beat, and then Bilbo’s face vanished.

Dain shifted in Thorin’s lap, turning so that his nose was almost at Thorin’s chin and he gave his beard a good lick. Thorin scratched at Dain’s ears, unable to stop the coos that left his lips as he settled the Labrador back down.

There was a soft knock at the door.

Thorin stilled, staring across the room, feeling his heart thump a little louder. Of course the whole house would’ve heard him yelling: lingering shreds of regret slithered over the tiny pebble sitting at the bottom of his stomach.

“Sweetheart? Can I come in?”

His sister’s voice sounded from the other side of the door, and Thorin sat up straighter. “Yes,” he replied, inhaling a slow breath.

Dis slipped into the room and approached the bed with obvious caution. She sat down on the edge of the duvet, careful not to touch him.

“Fili’s out in the garden,” Dis explained gently. “But I can go and get her, if you want?”

“No… No, it’s okay,” Thorin replied, leaning a little closer.

“Do you need anything?” she murmured, her hand coming to rest on the bed behind him.

“Would you be able to drive me back to Ered Luin for visiting hours?”

“Of course, love.”

Thorin moved again, back coming to press against Dis’ arm. She took this as an unspoken cue and slowly wrapped her arm around him, pulling him closer so she could rest her chin on his shoulder.

“If you need me to give him a good talking-to, I will, you know,” Dis said, tilting her head so her cheek was now pressing against Thorin’s shoulder.

“You heard us arguing?” Thorin asked, fingers moving back into Dain’s fur.

Dis gave a hum. “I did, and you should know that no one is allowed to upset my big brother.”

Thorin thought of the fury his sister had unleashed when Dwalin had triggered a panic attack and then his mind stumbled further back, to an autumn evening fifteen years ago after his passionate affair with another junior officer had ended and he had come home to mope and feel sorry for himself. Dis had initially chided him for sulking, had wrangled all the information out of him about the ill-fated relationship, and then his twenty-year-old sister, sleep-deprived from juggling a History degree with a chickenpox-riddled toddler had vowed to find the officer who had hurt her brother and strangle him with his own entrails which she clearly intended to rip from his own live body.

“I started it,” Thorin mumbled. “I shouted first.”

“Still,” Dis said, one hand rubbing Thorin’s arm. “If you need me to scare him shitless, I’m available at a very reasonable rate: special discount for grumpy brothers.”

Thorin couldn’t help but laugh at that and he slowly leaned his head down against Dis’, and he was quiet as his mind slowly sorted through the events of the past couple of hours.

_I don’t want to die, Thorin._

And the stone finally crumbled away into dust.

 

…

 

Thorin sped up his pace and Dain’s stride grew to a trot at his side as they hurried down the corridor together. Bilbo hadn’t needed to drag Thorin to Faramir’s support group: there had been neither kicking nor screaming, and Thorin had been quite resolute in his decision to make his own way there, to make a fresh start, but Thorin’s determination couldn’t have accounted for the crash on the A61 which had caused major traffic congestion for those heading into the city centre. And so he was almost fifteen minutes late for the group meeting.

Arriving at the double doors which led to the meeting room, Thorin came to a halt, feeling his heart pounding inside his chest. He swallowed, trying to calm his nerves, and his fingers flexed around Dain’s lead. He had intended to slip into the meeting early and mingle with everyone without drawing attention to himself. Well, so much for being inconspicuous.

Sucking in a deep breath through his nose and exhaling carefully through his mouth, Thorin gritted his teeth and pushed open the doors. There was a moment of absolute silence as everyone turned to stare at their late arrival, and then a round of cheers rose up.

Thorin stood frozen in the doorway for a moment, and then his legs were moving him forward as the cheers continued and everyone was greeting him in the support group’s familiarly boisterous fashion.

“Thorin! Sit thisself down, son!” Bert said, patting the spare seat at his side.

Taking a seat next to the old soldier, Thorin managed a smile that could only be described as ‘shy’ in comparison to Bert’s enormous grin.

“Bill, get the man a brew!” Bert called to their red-haired companion who was sitting at the opposite side of the circle, closest to the table which held the silver urn and corrugated cups.

Bill rolled his eyes. “What did your last slave die of?” he asked, still rising to go to the table.

“Exploding kettle,” Bert replied, with a throaty laugh, which was echoed by others in the circle.

On entering the room, Thorin’s eyes had immediately sought out Graham, and it was with a scrunching in his stomach that he had found the grey-haired man staring at him, looking less than pleased to see him, but Thorin supposed he had hidden it well. Graham was now fussing over Florence, giving the golden retriever his full attention.

Gaze moving away, Thorin returned Tom’s warm smile with a nod, and then his eyes fell on James, the oldest member of their group who gave even Thorin a run for his money when it came to silent stoicism. James had a certain unquestioned gravity about him, he was well-respected and admired, and when he spoke – which was rarely – this room of loud and lary veterans fell completely silent. James saw Thorin looking over at him and slowly dipped his chin in acknowledgement, and then continued to stroke his black Labrador, Myrtle, who was sitting between his knees. He wasn’t sure how exactly it worked, but somehow Thorin felt a little better, gaining some strength from James’ nod… Maybe it was because they were the two members of the group who had been recently readmitted, maybe it was because James knew what it felt like to return after a relapse.

“Here you go, mate.” Bill appeared, holding a steaming cardboard cup out towards Thorin.

“Thanks,” Thorin replied quietly, smiling as he accepted the cup.

Bill returned to his seat, completing their circle, and Thorin’s eyes finally moved to Faramir, who was talking to the chocolate Labrador sitting at his feet. This Labrador could have only been about six months old, still only a puppy, but he was the spitting image of Dain. A mini-Dain, no doubt still in training.

Faramir offered the Labrador a treat, which it licked eagerly from his palm, before settling down again. The trainer then straightened up and smiled over at him. “We’re glad you could make it, Thorin.”

Everyone’s attentions were now turned to him, and Thorin swallowed again. “Sorry I was, er, late… The traffic… I got held up.”

There were murmurs of understanding as the other men batted his apologies away, and then Faramir was smiling over at Tom. “Well, you haven’t missed much: just the start of what Tom promises is a spectacular story about his charm and wit.”

“I’m not sure I like the sarcasm in your tone, Faramir,” Tom returned, with a boyish grin. His hand moved to his thick blonde hair as his blue eyes moved around the circle. “So, what bit did I get up to?”

“You’d finished your shift and were standing in the middle of Bond Street, looking like a gormless pillock,” Bert supplied helpfully.

“Oh right, yeah,” Tom said, clearly not offended by Bert’s prompting. “So it’s my mum’s birthday next week and she’s asked for a jewellery box from this weird hippie shop that’s somewhere in the centre of Leeds. I told her I knew exactly which shop she meant but, well, did I bollocks… so I’m standing outside the AFCO, thinking: ‘Reet, it’s about time I got me Googles out’. I Googled the shop name on my phone and I’m trying to see the map, but it’s really bright out, so I put my sunglasses on so I can actually see the screen.”

Everyone in the circle was listening intently, and Thorin found himself leaning forward, even though he thought he might’ve already figured out where this story was going.

“And that’s when she appears,” Tom continued, tone becoming dramatic. “She literally just came out of nowhere and she honestly is the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”

Groans rose up from the group, but Tom was adamant: “No I mean it, she’s proper stunning! Like all curvy and cute, and she has this shiny, dark hair and her eyes… Oh my God, her eyes, they’re like… like… What’s the deepest ocean in the world?”

“Pacific,” came the curt answer from James, who retained a neutral expression despite more groans from the other men.

“Okay, so like the Pacific Ocean and…”

“Good God, lad, we’re going to be chucking up our dinners if you keep on like that,” Bert interrupted, provoking a round of laughter. “Just get on with the actual story.”

“Alright, alright!” Tom sighed, amid nudges from Bill and Graham, whose smile didn’t quite seem to reach his eyes. “Anyway, this absolute goddess comes over to me and asks if I’m okay, if she can help me with anything. At first I thought she just wanted to pet Bungle, ladies man that he is.”

Tom gave Bungle, the golden retriever sitting at his feet, an approving pat.

“But I explain that I’m looking for this shop so I can buy my mum’s birthday present and I kind of wave my phone in her face, showing her the map… and she just ignores Bungle altogether, just smiling at me with those eyes…”

“Tom!”

“Sorry, sorry! And then she asks if I’d like her to take me there, because she knows where it is, bought some stuff for her sister or something… So…” Tom was grinning now. “I reply, dead smooth like, ‘I’ll let you take me there, if you let me take you out for coffee afterwards.’”

A chorus of groans rose up again, and then Bill was asking: “And the poor lass fell for that?”

Tom was looking very pleased with himself. “I know! It actually worked… So, we went to the shop to get the present for my mum, and she keeps smiling at me, sort of watching me like she thinks I haven’t noticed her looking… and when we’re picking out jewellery boxes she keeps describing them to me, putting them into my hands…”

Thorin knew now that he was right about the direction of the story, and he was already cringing a little.

“Oh no…” Bill murmured, having clearly cottoned on with Thorin.

“But I didn’t really think anything of it… I kind of figured she thought I was just a bit thick and was like taking pity on me or something.”

“You are a bit thick,” Bert put in, and Tom promptly flashed him his middle finger.

“So I pick out a jewellery box and then we go and have coffee, properly introduce ourselves. I find out her name’s Briony and she’s a third year law student at Leeds Uni, so like proper clever. At this point Bungle, bless him, is kind of the dog-sized elephant in the room and she doesn’t ask me about him, so I just ask her loads of questions about her degree… and it’s all really interesting and I want to listen to all of it, but I keep thinking about her eyes and how she’s smiling at me…”

Bert’s cough urged Tom to hurry up, and so the young soldier skipped to the concluding part of his tale.

“I find that I really can’t help myself, like she’s so perfect it’s messing with my head, and I just come out and say: “God, you’re beautiful!” and then she goes: “How can you tell?” But then she sort of freaks out and is all apologetic, talking about being tactless and saying she’s really sorry, how she didn’t mean to offend me… and I’m really, really confused… until I realise I’m still wearing my sunglasses.”

“Oh my God,” Bill sighed, theatrically covering his face with his hands.

“Oh my _God_ ,” Graham echoed, looking to Tom as Thorin looked over at him. “What did you do?”

“So, after two hours of continuous flirting, I finally realise that the whole time Briony thought I was blind and Bungle was a guide dog… and I panic… Like really fucking panic…”

“I’m not sure I want to hear this,” Bill murmured.

“I do,” Bert said, leaning forward in his chair. “Go on then, lad, what happened?”

“So, again, panicking… I, er, I just throw off my sunglasses and kind of yell: “Oh, I’m not blind, I’m just a bit mental!””

“Jesus Christ!”

“You didn’t!”

There was a round of hearty laughter, followed by Bert’s slow clapping, and although he was wondering if it was possible to die of second-hand embarrassment, Thorin found himself smiling. Even James had cracked a small smile.

“And at what point did young Briony run for the hills?” Bill asked, sitting back in his chair.

Tom was looking fairly smug now. “Okay, so pretty much the entire coffee shop heard me shout that and Briony’s so embarrassed, she’s all red and shaking a little bit, and we just stare at each other for ages and ages, and I’m certain she’s gonna do a runner… but then she just says: “Well, at least you didn’t tell me my beauty cured your blindness.” And then we both burst out laughing.”

“She didn’t run, even after you proclaimed yourself a ‘little bit mental’ in front of the whole coffee shop?” Bert said, seeming genuinely impressed.

“Nope,” Tom said, beaming. “We exchanged numbers and we’re going out for dinner tomorrow night!”

Approving laughter rose up from the circle, followed by Bert’s “Well done, my son!”, and then there were a few well-meaning rounds of applause. Thorin found himself joining in with the clapping and Bill gave Tom a pat on the back.

It took a while for the laughter and the clapping to subside, but Faramir finally managed to take control of the group again. “Okay, well, thank you, Tom, for that remarkable story,” he said, urging his young canine charge to lie back down after being excited by all the noise. “I’m sure everyone here wishes you and Briony the best of luck.”

“Lass is gonna need it,” Bill muttered, and Tom gave him a good-natured nudge.

There were a few moments of relative quiet and then Faramir was looking around the circle. “I know it’s a bit of a hard act to follow, but would anyone like to share anything else…?”

This was one of the only moments of the group Thorin disliked. There was a period between the sharing of experiences that was awkward, silent, with everyone wondering who would speak next and what it was they would bring to the circle. And the stories weren’t always meant to entertain like Tom’s: Bill had spoken about his seven-year-old daughter witnessing one of his episodes and Bert had quite bluntly shared his frustration at being forty-six years old but still wetting the bed when he had a nightmare.

Thorin’s mind travelled back to his call with Bilbo when he was discharged for the second time. He heard the raised voices echoing inside his head, felt the phantom weight of the stone. Maybe it was time for him to finally speak up.

“I had a panic attack,” Thorin said, almost jumping at the sound of his own voice as everyone turned to him. “I had a panic attack in the car on the way home, when I was discharged last week.”

He could feel Graham’s eyes on him, but Thorin avoided the grey-haired man’s gaze, looking into his lap instead. There were a few quiet moments where the circle allowed his pronouncement to sink in, as there always was when someone shared something unpleasant: it was a mark of respect, showing that everyone there was considering his words carefully.

“It happens to the best of us, lad,” Bert said quietly, his usually booming voice now impossibly soft, his smile kind and understanding. “There’s no shame in it.”

Thorin nodded and there were murmurs of agreement from the group. “I… I thought they’d stop,” he continued, his voice wavering as he slowly unravelled this hidden insecurity, one he’d barely spoken to Bilbo about, let alone anyone else. “It’s been two months since I was first discharged… I… I just thought I was getting better.”

Bert let out a sympathetic sigh, glancing at Faramir, but the trainer stayed quiet, indicating he was happy for Bert to take the lead on this one. “Look, lad, I understand why you might think that’s the way it works but… it just isn’t. And you can’t judge your progress by your panic attacks – they’re unpredictable things, sometimes they happen for no reason at all. Sometimes there’s a very good reason, sometimes it’s because you’re actually making progress.”

Thorin studied Bert, surprised by his wise words, but if he’d learned anything from his time at Ered Luin, it was that the patients understood each other better than anyone else.

“I know it’s shite, but if it makes you feel any better, it’s been almost a year since I was discharged and this morning, when I was in the shower, I knocked the shampoo bottle and it hit the floor with a bang. I was crying like a baby when Daisy climbed into the shower with me, clever lass.” Bert gave the yellow Labrador at his feet a fond stroke. “And I can tell you, there’s nowt so weird as being stark bollock naked and cuddling a soaking Labrador.”

There were a few titters and understanding nods from the group, and then Bert turned away from Thorin to address the circle. “And be honest, who here’s had some kind of episode in the past fortnight? Panic attacks, nightmares, hallucinations, all our favourites?”

Thorin felt his stomach clench at Bert’s question, but then Bill slowly raised his hand, followed by Tom, who raised his even higher. Bert lifted his, and then James, his dark eyes meeting Thorin’s, wordlessly raised his hand. Thorin looked to Graham and, holding Thorin’s gaze for the first time, the older man joined his friends in lifting a hand.

“There we go,” Bert said, voice soft again. “Shit happens, Thorin – mostly to us lot, but we’re finding ways to get by.”

A smile appearing, Thorin glanced around the group again, feeling better than he had done for days – he could no longer feel the stone’s weight at all, and his stomach felt infinitely lighter.

After a few more murmured words of understanding, Faramir sent the group off to separate spaces in the room so their respective assistance dogs could practice some of their retrieval training. Thorin worked in a corner close to Bert, getting Dain to seek out and collect an empty pill bottle from somewhere in their chosen space. Graham and Florence were busy on the opposite side of the room, with Graham exchanging a few words with James every now and then. Thorin tried to stop watching them and focus on the task at hand, but he couldn’t get Graham’s initial look of shock out of his head, as if he had thought Thorin was going to be a no-show and he was saved from being confronted for the evening. At one point, Thorin was sure Bert had noticed him staring, but the older soldier didn’t say a word, only continued to give Daisy some affectionate if colourful chiding for not being able to find the pill bottle he was in fact sitting on.

As the meeting came to a close, everyone returned to their seats to collect their coats and bags and say their farewells. Thorin was just shrugging on his jacket when he realised James had come to a stop in front of his chair.

“Thorin,” he said quietly, and Thorin looked up, furrowing his brow. “My home phone number and my address.” He presented a folded sheet of lined paper to Thorin, holding it between his fingers. “I know it’s a little out of your way, but if you ever need a break… Linda always makes too much food, and the moor’s a great place to walk the dogs.”

“Oh… thank you,” Thorin replied, managing a smile as he took the piece of paper.

James returned the smile and then he and Myrtle headed off towards the doors, with Thorin staring after them. He knew James and his wife lived in a converted farmhouse at the foot of Ilkley Moor. Tom had once referred to the house as ‘The Ered Luin Spa Resort’, and Thorin guessed most of the support group had probably been to visit James there a few times.

Turning back to Dain, Thorin realised the room had emptied. He clipped on Dain’s lead and was getting to his feet when –

“Thorin, mate?”

Graham had taken James’ place in front of him, and every muscle in Thorin’s body tensed, which didn’t seem to go unnoticed by Graham himself.

“I… I don’t want to keep you,” Graham said quietly. “But… would you mind if we had a quick chat?”

Thorin’s eyes moved to Faramir, who was the only person left in the room. Faramir turned away from the coffee table, cups in his hands.

“I’m just packing away, lads, I won’t intrude,” he said carefully, and Thorin sensed the trainer had no intention of leaving the two of them alone in a room together.

“Alright,” Thorin said, feeling his heartbeat begin a speedy hammering in his ears, and then he slowly lowered himself back into his chair, ready to listen to what Graham had to say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter put up quite a fight, but thanks go, again, to Caffin9, who helped me tame it. Unfortunately, this spot of rewriting meant I couldn’t give you the onesie scene this chapter, as I think it would’ve interrupted the narrative flow a fair bit, but there will be onesies in Chapter 43, I’m not going to break my promise to you this time!
> 
> Thanks also go to the lovely Shiyaki for helping me with that tiny bit of German, and to you all, for sticking with ‘Obstacles’ into 2016 ;)


	43. Chapter 43

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s Chapter 43, and there will be onesies!

Thorin’s fingers continued to trace the little tufts of fur behind Dain’s ears as Graham settled on the chair opposite him, his eyes focused on Florence, who could clearly sense his discomfort with the situation. The Golden Retriever was snuffling at his hands and seemed reluctant to leave her partner alone. It wasn’t until Florence finally manoeuvred herself between Graham’s knees – mirroring Dain’s positioning – that Thorin caught the slight tremor in the older man’s fingers. Graham saw him looking and quickly flattened his hands out on his knees, trying to disguise his shaking.

His mouth feeling dry and his throat prickly, Thorin swallowed, his eyes slowly moving to meet Graham’s. There was no doubt in his mind that this was going to be about Bilbo. The very thought made his chest feel a little tighter, and this silence stretching out between them was only exacerbating Thorin’s anxiety. Equally, he wasn’t sure it was entirely fair that Graham should ask to speak to him and then fail to begin the conversation.

“I… I’ve been going over this in my head all week,” Graham admitted finally, his fingers twitching on his knees. “And… now you’re right in front of me I… I can’t seem to figure out what to say.”

This was a situation with which Thorin was very familiar and, even if the nettlesome feelings stirring in his stomach just wanted this over and done with, he did sympathise greatly with Graham. He’d never seen the grey-haired man looking this nervous: angry and frustrated, yes, when Bilbo had confronted him on the ward, but this… this was something different, and one sideways glance confirmed that Faramir was studying Graham with concern, pausing in his task of packing away the cardboard cups.

“You didn’t come to Group last week,” Graham murmured, his brow slightly furrowed as he looked across at Thorin.

“Neither did you,” came Thorin’s equally quiet reply.

Graham’s lips flickered into a small smile, and if Thorin didn’t know any better, he’d say Graham was both exasperated and amused at how quickly word travelled at the hospital.

“Okay…” Graham straightened up, running one hand through his silver fringe. “Okay… There’s… there’s something I need to understand, need to know… so I can, well… so I can make it right, but to do that I think I need to start from the beginning… if that’s okay? I… I don’t want to bore you.”

“You won’t bore me,” Thorin said softly, although part of him was wondering if Graham was about to start from the day he was born, and he would have to hear the ups and downs of forty-odd years of life before they got to the issue that really needed to be addressed.

But then Graham didn’t start from his birth, he started from the point that must stick with every soldier ever admitted to Ered Luin: the day they came home.

“I was discharged on medical grounds,” Graham began, his gaze dropping down to Florence. “When I got back, I was supposed to go to some rehabilitation centre up in North Yorkshire, but I… well… I didn’t quite make it there.”

Thorin tried not to arch his eyebrow, but he wasn’t quite sure what Graham was implying.

“I didn’t want to come home… didn’t want to face my family. I…” Graham drew in a few slow breaths with a practiced rhythm, indicative of months of therapy with Dr. Grey. “I was ashamed, thought I was a coward… and as I didn’t have anywhere else to go, I figured that if I could survive in a godforsaken hole in the Helmand province, I could survive on the streets of Allerton.”

Thorin became very still as this revelation curled its talons around his ribs: many things he understood all too well, but one thing he was lucky enough to have avoided. “You were homeless?” he asked, voice barely more than a whisper.

Graham gave a stiff nod, and the talons tightened. Thorin could still remember how horrific those first few days back in England had been… but he had been at Ered Luin, in a soft, warm bed, with his sister, his family, and a whole team dedicated to helping him adjust. He couldn’t imagine what it must have been like for Graham, cold and alone and hurting, and he felt a distinct shudder ripple up his spine.

“I suppose it was just another way to punish myself,” Graham continued. “I was homeless for three months, and then I had a psychotic episode in the middle of Bradford Interchange.”

Graham moved one hand to Florence’s back and he fanned out his fingers, stroking through her long fur, fiddling with any knots that he found. Thorin couldn’t decide whether it was comforting or unsettling to feel as if he was watching himself in a mirror.

“I was taken to the BRI, but when they dug up my service records, I was transferred to Ered Luin…” Graham’s eyes slowly moved from Florence. “My mum thought I was dead… she thought my commanding officer had made a mistake and I’d never really been sent home.”

Thorin’s heart clenched at that. He remembered the joke the older man had made about never getting any phone calls that weren’t from his mother… and in later group sessions he had discovered that Graham’s father had walked out when he was four. He was all his mum had, and she had thought he had died along with so many others in the campaign Thorin himself had been part of.

“My first week at Ered Luin was difficult,” Graham said, and the slight quirk of his lips intimated that this was very much an understatement. “I was still trying to punish myself a little bit, so I wouldn’t let my mum bring me anything from home… so by Day Six, I found myself absolutely bored out of my mind.”

Thorin managed a smile, but then his stomach gave a heated jolt. He suspected both he and Graham had discovered similar ways to distract themselves at the hospital.

“I used to wander around a lot,” Graham said, and his tone had become careful. “I felt like a senile old man… the nurses were forever fetching me and taking me back to my room or the dayroom, but I never stayed put… and then one day I walked past Bilbo’s room, and saw him sitting in bed, reading a book.”

Fighting to keep his expression neutral, Thorin lowered his head when it was clear Graham wanted his permission to continue.

“I stood in his doorway for ages, gawping like a complete idiot, and then Bilbo noticed and invited me in, asked if there was anything he could do for me… acted like it was completely normal that he’d just found me staring at him like a total nutjob.”

_Dear Thorin, you stare at me a lot. I’m not sure if you realise you’re doing it… and just how intense you look. It’s rather terrifying and rather beautiful. Graham used to stare a lot too…_

Thorin had to shake the thoughts of Bilbo’s journal from his head. He knew it was important that he let Graham tell his side of the story, so that he could understand how two people in his life had fallen together, then been ripped apart, before, in the universe’s typically infuriating way, falling back together again.

“I asked him if I could borrow one of his books, just to fight my boredom,” Graham explained. “With nothing else to do, I got through the books quickly… so at first, I guess he was more like my librarian than anything.”

Graham seemed to smile at this memory, and it made Thorin’s heart ache, knowing what had happened afterwards, but also knowing that his boyfriend had always been the compassionate and understanding person he had first met in the early hours of the morning six months ago. He was another idiot who had wandered past Bilbo’s door… and then a line of _Brideshead Revisited_ came to Thorin, one he had spoken softly to Bilbo as he slept: “He was the forerunner.”

“You alright, mate?” Graham’s voice suddenly cut through Thorin’s thoughts, sounding concerned. “I mean… is this okay? You don’t mind me talking about it?”

“Oh… er, sorry…” Thorin felt heat creep up into his cheeks. “It’s… it’s fine.”

Graham studied him for a long moment, but then, after another practiced breath, he spoke again: “Then, at the end of my second week, I had a little wobble… not like the episodes I used to have, and Christ, they were scary… but, well, that day I decided I just wanted to lie on the floor and not move, not do anything… not talk to anyone. I shut myself down and no one could get through to me… and then Bilbo came into my room and just lay down on the floor next to me.”

Graham’s fingers began fiddling with Florence’s fur again, but his voice had lost its hesitance.

“He didn’t say anything, didn’t ask me to do anything… just lay there next to me, like he knew that really, I just didn’t want to be alone. You know, he lay on that cold floor for three hours and never even flinched… just gave the nurses a real look if they came in and tried to disturb us… He stayed, until I was kind of done with shutting out the world, and then finally I got up and Bilbo invited me to have dinner with him and Bifur, like what’d happened that afternoon was just all in a day’s work.”

Thorin nodded, suddenly feeling his eyes stinging. This story was bursting at the seams with Bilbo, with the Bilbo he knew and loved so very much… and Thorin wasn’t at all surprised to hear that he had helped another patient at Ered Luin when no one else could.

“I thought I was in love with him.”

Graham was watching Thorin very carefully now, and Thorin felt his shoulders stiffen, the hairs on the back of his neck bristling. Bilbo had chided him for his territorial, jealous behaviour… but right now it felt like an instinctive reaction.

“It’s taken me a long time to figure out there’s a difference between love and infatuation,” Graham continued, his voice low, controlled. “I suppose I’ve always been a bit of a hero-worshipper – Dr. Grey’ll tell you that’s because of the absence of sympathetic male role-models in my life – and so I didn’t really love Bilbo, I idolised him… far too much.”

Dain was licking at Thorin’s fingers: it made him return to himself and process what it was Graham was telling him, and so his shoulders slowly slumped as he let out a breath.

“When he rejected me, he might not have broken my heart, but God, he still broke something… so I lashed out and was a complete bastard to him.”

Thorin’s fingers automatically folded into fists in his lap and the sudden movement drew Graham’s eyes to them, but the older man only gave a sad smile of understanding… as if he didn’t blame Thorin for his reaction. Thorin prayed Graham wasn’t going to retell this particular incident in detail – the bones in his face might not survive it – but it seemed Graham’s self-preservation instincts were still intact.

“Life at Ered Luin was pretty shit after that… I became a bit of a pariah, and even some of the nurses gave me the cold-shoulder. Bilbo and I didn’t speak again, so I didn’t have any idea how he’d taken what I said to him… and then, a month later, he tried to kill himself in that storeroom.”

Graham’s voice had taken on the hint of a tremble, and Thorin could see that his eyes were beginning to shine. The dust in his stomach was shuddering, starting to stick together into prickling sand… and the jagged shard of mirror was a silver flash in Thorin’s mind.

“I relapsed at first,” Graham continued, now unable to meet Thorin’s gaze. “But then the whole thing was enough to make me want to get the hell out of here… I worked my arse off with my sessions and group therapy... and then I was discharged just in time for Christmas. Florence, here, was the best present I could ever ask for.”

He gave Florence’s ears a fond scratch, leaning down to press a kiss to her head, but Thorin sensed this touch of bravado was Graham’s attempt at covering the pain he was really feeling.

“I never expected to see Bilbo again,” Graham said, straightening up, and his face was looking paler. “And then we met here and… God, the look on Bilbo’s face… He was so angry… so hurt…”

Thorin felt himself shiver as he remembered the venom in Bilbo’s voice as he had stared out Graham across the ward. Not that he hadn’t understood Bilbo’s reaction before, but now he knew how much the younger man had helped Graham, only to have it thrown back so painfully in his face… and then he thought Graham had been chatting up Thorin as another act of revenge.

“Dr. Grey arranged for us to talk again, to make amends… and Bilbo seemed so much happier than when I knew him. I thought he’d forgiven me, that we could move forward.”

Thorin wasn’t sure he liked Graham’s use of the past tense, and he reached for Dain as he felt the final act of the their trio’s tale building up behind Graham’s dulled gaze.

“If… if you don’t want to talk about it, we don’t have to,” Graham said, caution returning to his voice.

Thorin’s eyes moved to the table at the other end of the room and he saw Faramir had gone very still, his hand paused on the silver tea urn. Feeling his heart starting up an ominous thud against his ribs, he still drew in a deep, slow breath, fighting against the shudder in his lungs.  

“It’s okay,” he replied quietly. “I think I need to hear it.”

Graham nodded, but it was a few moments before he seemed able to answer, and Thorin sensed he was giving himself a stern and silent pep-talk.

“I was in the middle of my session with Dr. Grey when he got the page… and I’ve never seen the colour drain from a person’s face like that. He didn’t even try to convince me to stay in his office, he just ran straight out into the corridor… and I followed him. Like I knew. I can’t explain it… just, part of me already knew what we were going to find.”

The phantom breath was a deafening rasp in Thorin’s mind and it sounded like someone ripping paper right next to his ear… It took him a split-second to realise he was remembering the way he had woken up on that black morning, with the breath lodged in his throat. Like Graham, part of him had already known what was going to happen.

“He wasn’t breathing when they carried him out of the bathroom… I only got the briefest glimpse of him before he was gone, but it was enough… Jesus Christ, it was more than enough.”

Graham’s elbows were resting on his knees, his hands rubbing over his face, and all of a sudden Thorin felt as if he were underwater, thrashing about just below the surface, seeing Graham through an icy curtain of water.

_He wasn’t breathing when they carried him out of the bathroom…_

This was something Thorin had never been told. Neither Dr. Grey nor Bilbo himself had mentioned that, for however short a time, Bilbo had stopped breathing. The thought was the water slowly filling his lungs, and Thorin choked on a breath, screwing up his eyes. He had been so, so close to losing him. Had Bilbo’s heart stopped as well…? Even for a fraction of a second, had Thorin lost him…?

“Thorin?”

The water crashed down around him, soaking him from the inside out, and Thorin returned to the room, finding Graham’s hand hovering just above his knee, and the older man had moved his chair closer to him. Faramir had moved to the edge of the circle of chairs.

“I’m sorry, mate… I’m so, so sorry,” Graham said, in an eerie echo of Fili’s words when he had been sitting in Mr. Proudfoot’s office, feeling as if he was bleeding out onto the carpet.

“What do you want to understand, Graham?” Thorin asked wearily, too exhausted to even work through his emotions. “What do you need to know?”

Graham winced at Thorin’s direct questioning, but still he answered, his tone tight and careful: “I’m not arrogant enough to assume Bilbo actually cares what I think of him, but I… I need to know, if you think I’m even partly responsible for… for last week, and for the time before that… Please, I’d like you to tell me.”

Thorin studied Graham, his vision beginning to blur at the corners. This was what had kept Graham away…? Had clearly been torturing him for some time?

“Dr. Grey’s told me I’m seeing a pattern that isn’t there,” Graham said, when no answer came from Thorin. “But I’m not sure I entirely trust his judgement on this one.”

“No,” Thorin said, the word coming out in a croak, so he tried again, coughing to clear his throat. “No, I don’t think you’re responsible… Bilbo… He’s wanted this for a really long time…” Thorin’s chest clenched, summoning the ghost of faded pain, but he knew too much about blame to let Graham suffer too. He drew in a deep breath. Unable to bear even the thought of explaining the reasons for Bilbo’s decision to Graham, he settled for simply telling him he wasn’t a reason: “I don’t think this is anything to do with what happened between you two.”

Graham was staring at him, water crowding the corners of his eyes, his mouth opening then shutting again. “You really don’t think…?” His expression shone with relief as the words sank in, and although part of him wanted to, Thorin couldn’t begrudge him his happiness. Graham was allowed to make peace with this: from what Thorin had heard that evening, he had tried to atone and had been through more than enough on his way there.

The two men sat in silence for a long time, the sounds of their respective assistance dogs panting and snuffling at their hands filling the room.

Finally, Thorin spoke, deciding if he and Graham were to find their way forward, there was one last thing he needed to know. “Do you still have feelings for him?” he asked softly, forcing himself to look Graham in the eye.

Graham stayed silent for a few long moments, and the hot, bristly feelings were beginning to creep up Thorin’s neck again, but then the answer came: “I do… just not in the way you’re thinking.”

Thorin waited, trying to be patient, trying not to curl his fingers into his palms.

“I care about Bilbo, as I always have, and despite what happened, I owe him an awful lot,” Graham explained. “I have a lot of respect for him, as well as appreciation and gratitude.”

Thorin nodded, allowing himself to relax again. He looked up to find Graham was watching him with an expression he couldn’t place.

“He’s saved so many people… but he still refuses to save himself.”

The pronouncement sent a shiver running right through Thorin’s insides. He knew Graham was voicing his confusion, his need to understand, but Thorin couldn’t give him the answer he wanted. And so, instead, he replied: “I know… but we’re working on it.”

Unexpectedly, Graham smiled at that, and the light from it filled his eyes. “I’m glad to hear it,” he murmured.

There was another moment of silence, but it was a moment without tension or strain. Thorin and Graham were content to sit and listen as Faramir began stacking the other chairs in the circle.

“It’s getting late,” Graham said finally, making to get to his feet.

Thorin nodded, also rising and adjusting Dain’s lead. They both looked to Faramir, beginning to collect their chairs for him, but he waved them off.

“It’s alright, lads, I’ll sort these… You get yourselves home, and I’ll see you both next week.”

Thorin and Graham seemed to pick up on the underlying threat in the trainer’s tone and they shared a wry smile.

“It alright if I walk out with you?” Graham asked casually.

Thorin nodded, and then led the way out of the meeting room, heading back towards the ward.

“You should take James up on his offer, you know,” Graham said, as they approached the double doors. “They’re good people, him and Linda… and sometimes you need to have a bit of a breather from all this.”

“You went there, didn’t you?” Thorin asked, surprised he was able to read Graham so well. “Last week?”

“Yeah… Yeah, and it did me the world of good, so as I’ve said… think about it, give James a ring.”

“I will.”

They paused at the doors, a flicker of awkwardness remaining, until Graham said: “Well, night, mate. You take care of yourself and… give Bilbo my best, won’t you?”

Thorin managed a smile as they parted ways and he pushed through the doors. He told himself he was feeling a little lighter as he stepped onto the ward, that this had all been solid progress, and then he froze, slowly turning to his right.

The door to the gents bathroom was waiting for him, blank and blue and unforgiving, and the icy water rushed back into Thorin’s lungs, weighing him down and holding him there.

_He wasn’t breathing when they carried him out of the bathroom…_

It was a long time before he registered the tug of Dain’s lead rubbing against his fingers. He glanced down and the Labrador let out a low whine, nudging his thigh. Thorin let out the breath he had been holding since he arrived on the ward and, ignoring the tremble in his fingers, let Dain lead the way back to Bilbo’s room.

He heard the laughter first, and then he shuffled through the doorway, stopping when he saw Dis and Bilbo deep in conversation, talking about something which they both seemed to find highly amusing. They noticed Thorin almost simultaneously and looked over at him with wide smiles.

“Hello, love, how was support group?” Dis asked, before her smile faltered.

Thorin opened his mouth to answer, but didn’t quite manage it.

“I’ll just go and sign us out.” Dis was the picture of tact as she rose from her chair and brushed her brother’s arm on her way out the door.

Bilbo was studying Thorin with concern, a little crease appearing between his brows. He began pushing his covers away, ready to come to him, but then Thorin moved forward, dropping Dain’s lead and pulling himself up onto the bed. Sitting this close, he could feel Bilbo’s warmth, just about hear him breathing, and he desperately tried to find comfort in that… Reminding himself that last week was a nightmare of ‘could-have-beens’, but that none of his fears, no matter how close a call, had actually come to pass.

Hands slowly settling over Thorin’s, Bilbo looked up at him and seemed about to say something, but then he pulled the questions back. Thorin saw the bitter words of their argument flash in Bilbo’s eyes, and he knew he was giving him his privacy, deciding not to push him on this one.

And suddenly, Thorin just wasn’t close enough. He leaned forward and pulled Bilbo into his chest, his hands moving furiously over his back as he struggled to find the comfort he needed. He flattened his palms either side of Bilbo’s spine, trying to feel his back rising as he breathed, but it still wasn’t enough.

“Hey, it’s alright,” Bilbo said gently. “Shhh…”

He continued to make soft shushing sounds as he carefully pulled Thorin’s hands away. Taking Thorin's left hand in his own, he folded down two fingers and then pressed Thorin’s middle and forefinger into his neck, just below his jaw, using his hand to keep it there. Bilbo’s skin was warm against Thorin’s fingertips and he felt his pulse throbbing there, each beat reminding him that the nightmare was over. Unzipping his hoodie down to his stomach, Bilbo guided Thorin’s right hand to his chest, his palm pressing over his heart so he could feel both its steady thrumming and the rise of his chest as he breathed. Thorin had no idea how Bilbo had figured it out, but still the younger man had understood exactly what he needed.

Their foreheads came to rest together, and Thorin closed his eyes against the tears, trying to focus on the reassuring movements beneath his fingers and Bilbo’s warm breaths brushing against his lips. Every so often a breath would come out as a sob, but Bilbo would keep shushing him, his fingers stroking over Thorin’s, helping him to keep his focus.

They sat like that for a long time, until Thorin’s breathing quietened and his hands slowly fell from Bilbo’s neck and chest. Bilbo caught them before Thorin could pull them away completely and kept their fingers entwined on the bed before them.

“You don’t have to tell me,” he said, his tone careful. “But is there anything I can do?”

Thorin looked at Bilbo, knowing the answer was in his eyes and not having the strength to hide it. Stay with me, he thought, please, please don’t ever try to leave me again. But he knew he couldn’t ask this of Bilbo. As they’d discussed in their call, he wasn’t going to force Bilbo to make a promise he might not be able to keep.

“Waking up in acute care was… I don’t think I actually have the words to describe how horrible it was,” Bilbo began slowly. “But you know the one thing that got me though those first hours? It was knowing that I would get to see you again.”

Thorin drew in a shuddering breath, his fingers tightening around Bilbo’s.

“Waking up every morning in here is really difficult sometimes, but every morning I think: “I get to see Thorin today”, and I have to tell you, it doesn’t half help me get out of bed.”

Thorin managed a teary smile and Bilbo reached up, gently wiping his cheeks with his thumbs.

“I didn’t mean to bully you into going to Faramir’s support group,” he said quietly. “If you weren’t ready to go back…”

“No, no, it was fine,” Thorin said, spotting the guilt as soon as it crept into Bilbo’s voice.

Bilbo looked at him, clearly perplexed and understandably so as he had just returned from support group only to break down and cry in his arms.

“I got a round of applause when I walked in,” Thorin said, grinning a little dopily at Bilbo, who returned his grin, squeezing his hands. “And…  I shared something with the group. I told them about my panic attack in the car.”

Bilbo’s eyes lit up at this and it made Thorin's insides feel a little fuzzy. “Thorin… that’s really great, that’s –”

“If you say the word ‘progress’, I’m going to push you off the bed.”

“Okay, but you can’t deny that –”

Bilbo let out an inhuman squawk as Thorin’s hands moved to his hips, ready to tip him, and then they were both sniggering.

“James gave me his phone number and his address,” Thorin continued, tone more serious. “He lives over in Ilkley with his wife, at the foot of the moor; most of the support group have been to visit him.”

Bilbo smiled, his fingers tracing the collar of Thorin’s shirt. “Then I think you should too. I bet the moor’s a beautiful place to walk Dain, to get some fresh air.”

Thorin nodded. Bilbo’s fingers moved with his chest as he drew in a deeper breath. “Graham wanted to speak to me.”

Bilbo’s fingers stilled, and when he spoke his voice was controlled: “Okay.”

Thorin’s lips twitched and he couldn’t help but smile at the protectiveness Bilbo was trying and failing to mask. “He told me about how he ended up in Ered Luin, about how you two met.” Sensing that Bilbo didn’t want to hear a whole retelling of the conversation, Thorin got straight to the point: “He thought he was the reason for... for last week.” Silently cursing himself for using Graham’s euphemisms, Thorin finished: “And for the time before.”

Bilbo studied him, expression serious. “And what did you tell him?”

“That I didn’t think he was,” Thorin replied carefully, wondering, with a pang, if Bilbo was going to contradict him.

But Bilbo only nodded, letting out a soft sigh. “Would it bother you if I spoke to Graham myself?”

Thorin shook his head. “Of course not… I think he’d appreciate it.”

Bilbo gave a hum, seeming to slip into thought. They sat quietly for a while, slowly stroking their fingers over the back of each other’s hands.

“Is Dis looking over?” Thorin asked finally, realising he had left his sister signing out at the nurses’ station for a long time.

Bilbo’s eyes moved over Thorin’s shoulder. “No, she’s talking to Radagast about Ofsted assessment criteria.”

Furrowing his brow, Thorin turned. Dis and Radagast were chatting away, but he couldn’t hear a word they were saying. He turned back to Bilbo. “You can lip-read?” he said, not at all surprised by this revelation.

“Yes, so be careful if you ever complain about me where I can still see you,” Bilbo grinned.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Thorin replied. “If I ever want to tell you to –” He mouthed ‘fuck off’. “ –I’ll do it so you can hear.”

And this time it was Thorin letting out a high-pitched squawk as Bilbo lunged forward and tried to push him off the bed.

 

…

 

_Hey Uncle! :D I need Bilbo to check an essay before I hand it in tomorrow so I’ll meet you at EL after school! Fili xxx_

Thorin stared down at the text again as the bus rounded the corner, the hand not holding his phone hitting the bell to his left almost as a reflex reaction. It wasn’t unusual for Fili to join him on his visits to the hospital, but they tended to pre-arrange their trips so they could travel together. Thorin hoped his niece hadn’t been getting too much grief from her History teacher this term, but it’d been a while since she had mentioned the now infamous Mr. Greenwood.

The bus pulled into the hospital stop. Thorin thanked the driver as he and Dain hopped down onto the pavement and then they were soon travelling up in the lift, ready to meet Fili on the ward. Having been buzzed through the doors, Thorin headed straight over to the nurses’ station, greeting Poppy as she handed him the sign-in sheet.

“Fili’s already here?” Thorin asked, seeing his niece’s name pencilled in a few rows above where he was writing his own name.

“Yes,” came Poppy’s reply, and Thorin could feel her grin as he finished writing his sign-in time.

He studied the nurse carefully, but she clearly wasn’t going to give anything away, even if her eyes did flit towards Bilbo’s room. And that was when Thorin’s ears managed to filter out the familiar voices from the others on the ward. There seemed to be quite a commotion going on, and so Thorin, with Dain falling into step at his side, strode over to the room.

He had expected to find Bilbo and Fili, but what he hadn’t expected were the piles and piles of parcels covering the bed and the chairs by the window, the mounds of silvery plastic wrapping catching the light from the windows.

Oh no.

Thorin’s eyes moved from Bilbo, to Fili, to Rosie, who were all tearing open their respective packages and sorting the clothes into neat folded piles at the end of the bed. One by one, they noticed Thorin standing in the doorway and then, at exactly the same moment, three shit-eating grins appeared.

“I’m going now,” Thorin announced, before promptly turning on his heel and making to march straight back out of the room.

It was Bilbo who moved forward and caught his jacket sleeve, making him turn round. “Oh no you don’t!” he said happily. “You’re going to help unpack like everybody else.”

Thorin made a pitiful whining noise low in his throat and Dain’s ears twitched, but still Bilbo pushed a black bin-liner into his hands.

“We’ve made quite a bit of mess, so if you could pick up all the wrapping and paper, that would be lovely!” Bilbo reached up onto his toes so he could kiss Thorin’s bearded cheek, and then he returned to folding a striped jumper on the bed.

Thorin’s eyes scanned the room, but he could see no sign of the blue unicorn onesie. Perhaps it’s got lost in the post, he thought… well, prayed, as he settled Dain down and began picking shreds of silver wrapper up off the floor.

“Hey, Uncle, catch!”

Fili chucked a ball of wrapping across the room, and Thorin lifted up the bin-liner so it would drop in. He then narrowed his eyes at his niece.

“So… what’s your essay about then? The one you want Bilbo to check?”

Bilbo straightened up, turning to Fili, his forehead crinkled, and Fili was looking very sheepish.

“I knew if I told you the real reason you’d be on a bus straight back home,” Fili said, shrugging.

“But how did you know the clothes had arrived?”

Fili’s eyes flickered to Rosie, and the nurse carried on folding a pair of chinos definitely more than was necessary.

“Rosie text me this morning.”

“But… but the hospital’s only supposed to contact you in case of emergency,” Thorin said, rather lamely.

Fili shrugged again, before her grin returned. “Fashion emergency.”

“I’m not going to wear it,” Thorin replied, frowning as he collected the last of the cellophane wrapping covering the floor by the chairs.

“Of course you are!” Bilbo suddenly swooped down and gave Thorin another peck on the cheek before dancing away as he swiped at him with a growl.

Thorin glanced over at Fili and his niece returned a meaningful look, which clearly said: “Come on, Uncle, we talked about this!”

“Where is it then?” Thorin asked, as if he were asking about the location of Satan himself. He straightened up and both Bilbo and Rosie came to a stop.

They all watched as Fili pulled the onesie, still folded in cellophane, from the bottom of a pile, and presented it to her uncle with a flourish. “Ta-Daaah!” she exclaimed, handing over the package.

Thorin immediately wrinkled his nose in disgust and his stomach gave a squirm. He had at least been picturing a deep royal blue colour, but no, this onesie was baby blue and Thorin could see the line of the mane in white fur with sparkly strands of silver and the occasional star. He shuddered. “I hate you all,” he stated, expression deadpan.

The others laughed and finished tidying up the bed.

“Right, where’s my bunny onesie?” Bilbo said, clapping his hands together.

“Here!” Rosie handed Bilbo the folded, sandy brown rabbit onesie which had already been divested of its cellophane wrapping. “Okay, where do you boys want to change?”

Thorin was about to utter another weak protest, but didn’t quite managed it and instead, resigned himself to his fate, glumly hanging his head.

“I’ll go and get changed in Ori’s room so Thorin doesn’t have to walk through the ward in his sparkly onesie,” Bilbo said, after a pause.

“Why can’t we both just get changed in here?” Thorin tried not to sound too grumpy, but probably failed.

“Because it’s no fun if I watch you get into it: I want there to at least be some sort of reveal,” Bilbo answered, smiling sweetly.

Thorin thought about mouthing something rather crude over at Bilbo, but decided it just wasn’t worth it. He was going to lose this fight, no matter what he said.

“Okay, that’s sorted then, come on, Bilbo.”

Rosie ushered Bilbo out of the room, and the younger man gave Thorin one backwards glance, his expression full of warmth and reassurance, his snarky façade melted away, and it did make Thorin feel a little better.

“I’ll be just outside, Uncle,” Fili said, moving to the doorway. “Let me know if you need any help!”

Thorin didn’t have time to ask his niece what exactly she meant by that before she had slipped from the room. With a half-hearted growl, Thorin kicked off his shoes and then carried the onesie to the spot behind the door. Dain followed him there, looking up at him with concern, tentatively licking at his fingers.

“I’m alright,” Thorin said, giving Dain’s ears a good scratch. “I might not be in a moment, but we won’t think about that, eh?”

Sighing, he placed the onesie on the floor and shrugged off his jacket. He quickly pulled off his jeans, deciding to leave on his dark grey t-shirt, and then collected the onesie. Unfolding it, he held the monstrosity out in front of him and grunted. Why on earth did they make these things to fit people who were six foot two? The baby blue colour really was terrible and, on closer inspection, Thorin found there was faint silver glitter covering the whole of the blue fabric. Turning it around he grimaced when he saw the long, bushy white tail and the mane full of stars. But, worst of all, was the ridiculously large, pale yellow horn stuck to the top of the hood.

“Uncle, are you putting it on?” Fili called from outside.

“Yes!” Thorin called back, cringing at the obvious lie.

“Well, you better be, ‘cause Bilbo’s just come out of Ori’s room and he looks awesome!”

With another sigh – one loud enough for Fili to hear – Thorin decided to just grit his teeth and get this over and done with. He unzipped the onesie down the middle and turned it around. It took a few attempts, and Thorin was very pleased no one was around to see him stagger against the wall, but finally he got his legs and arms through the right holes, and then he adjusted the onesie over his shoulders, zipping it up to his chest.

“Have you put your hood up?” came Fili’s next question from the doorway.

“… Do I have to?”

“Yep, or I’m gonna come in there and do it for you!”

Letting out another sigh, asking whatever deity was up there to give him the strength to get through this ordeal, Thorin slowly lifted the hood over his head. It took him a few moments to sort it so the hood wasn’t hanging over his eyes, weighed down as it was by the stupid horn, but finally Thorin thought he had made himself presentable.

He turned and risked a look at himself in the mirror above Bilbo’s sink and immediately regretted it. There was no other way to describe it: he simply looked like an absolute and utter bellend. He was never going to be taken seriously again, by anyone, ever. He heard a faint whining sound and saw Dain was looking up at him, his brown eyes full of confusion… and what may have been vague terror. He moved forward, trying to ignore the Labrador’s instinctive flinch, and scratched his ears, trying to reassure him that he was still alright.

“Uncle? You ready?”

Thorin straightened up. “Yes.”

Bracing himself, he moved from the behind the door just as Fili, Rosie, and Bilbo stepped into the room. The laughter was instantaneous and Thorin closed his eyes, trying to let it wash over him, but also reaching for Dain at the same time as he felt colour flood his cheeks.

“Oh my God!” Fili cried, choking on her laughter. “This… This is the best moment of my life… Just oh my God…”

Thorin dared to peek open one eye and found Bilbo standing in front of him. Where Thorin looked like a complete moron, Bilbo actually looked adorable. The younger man was grinning up at him and Thorin reached out to move one of the enormous, floppy bunny ears away from his face.

“You look very cute,” Thorin said, feeling his blush deepen.

“I like your horn,” Bilbo replied, smirking as he reached up to tweak it.

And then something horrible happened. The horn made a noise. It actually made a loud neighing sound, followed by the ringing thrum of a harp, and then the flashing in the periphery of his vision told him it was also lighting up… and Thorin was convinced he was going to die of embarrassment.

Everyone else broke out into hysterical laughter and Thorin closed his eyes again, praying for even more strength.

“It… it makes a sound… it lights up and makes a sound!” Fili gasped out, audibly wheezing. “Oh my God… I… I think I’m gonna wet myself…”

Thorin opened his eyes to see Fili was clutching her stomach, hunching over as she laughed, but when she saw him looking she lifted a hand to her mouth, as if to try and stop herself. “I’m sorry, Uncle… I’m really sorry!”

It was then that Thorin felt Bilbo slide his arm around his waist, and he already felt better. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to the hood of Bilbo’s onesie.

“Thank you… for doing this for me,” Bilbo whispered, leaning against Thorin’s shoulder.

Thorin gave a small grumble in reply, but still held Bilbo closer.

“Okay, photos!”

Fili seemed to have recovered enough to pull out her iPhone and Thorin froze.

“What?” Fili said, smiling innocently. “You didn’t think I was going to miss the opportunity to immortalise this wondrous moment?”

Uncomfortable feelings stirred inside Thorin’s stomach as he looked over at his niece. “No,” he said quietly.

“Oh, come on, Uncle,” Fili said. “Kee’s going to be really upset he missed this, he’ll want to see!”

Thorin shifted on the spot. Dr. Grey had told him he wanted Thorin to do things for himself, and himself only, and this was one of them. “I don’t want the first picture of Bilbo and I together to be… something people laugh at. I want us to have a photo without the onesies first.”

Fili’s smile became gentle. “Okay,” she replied. “You could take them off down to your waists and I’ll just take the photo from the waist up?”

Thorin turned to Bilbo, he gaze questioning, and Bilbo nodded. They both unzipped their onesies and pulled their arms out of the sleeves. It was strange, realising that he and Bilbo had shared so many photos with each other, but this was the first time they were going to be photographed together… and Thorin wanted it to be perfect.

Tying the sleeves of the onesie together so that it sat above his hips, Thorin turned back to Bilbo. The younger man was wearing his pale long-sleeved pyjama top, the sleeves still covering the bandages wrapped around his wrists, and Thorin smiled, reaching out to brush a few curly strands of hair out of Bilbo’s eyes.

“Ready?” Fili asked, lifting her phone in front of her.

“Yes,” Thorin confirmed.

Bilbo moved closer into Thorin’s side, his arm sliding around his waist, and Thorin wrapped his arm around Bilbo’s shoulders.

“Okay, smile!”

Despite the abject horror of the situation, Thorin managed a smile, Bilbo’s presence at his side steadying him, giving him reason to smile. Fili tapped her thumb a few times, and then Bilbo suddenly turned and reached up to kiss Thorin on the cheek. Grinning, Thorin chased his lips and pulled him into another kiss, one finger hooked under his chin to guide him back to him. It was only when he pulled away a few moments later with a giddy feeling rising in his stomach that he realised Fili was still taking photos.

“Fili,” Thorin sighed, only half-scolding.

But his niece ignored him as she looked back over the photos, Rosie peering over her shoulder. The two women let out an “Awww!” as Fili swiped onto a photo.

“May we see?” Bilbo asked, smiling.

Fili moved forward and handed Bilbo her phone. He held it out so Thorin could see as well, and the giddy feelings only multiplied. Fili had captured the moment when Thorin had moved his finger under Bilbo’s chin and kissed him. Bilbo swiped onto the previous picture, of him kissing Thorin’s cheek, then he swiped again and they found themselves both grinning at the camera. Thorin was pleased his smile didn't appear too pained, although he thought his hair looked a little scruffy, having been mussed by the onesie’s hood. Bilbo was beaming, and there was so much light in his eyes that it took Thorin a moment to notice the shadows beneath them.

“This is a lovely photo, Fili,” Bilbo said softly, unable to take his eyes from it.

“I can print them off for you, if you want? You can add them to your photo album!”

“I’d like that,” Bilbo replied, turning to smile up at Thorin.

“Okay, I’m going to need my phone back now.”

Thorin wasn’t sure he liked the mischievous glint in his niece’s eyes as she spoke.

“So, hoods back on, and let’s get this onesie photo-shoot started!”

Thorin groaned again, but still he joined Bilbo in pulling on his sleeves and zipping up the onesie. Saying a silent goodbye to his last shred of dignity, he lifted his hood.

Fili raised her phone again and instantly began tapping at the screen, and Thorin decided to endure it. That was until: “Oh my God, this one is so going to be my new screensaver!” Yes, he might have to have words with his niece about that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The onesie scene is finally posted! I hope you all enjoyed it and no one has met an unfortunate demise from second-hand embarrassment ;)
> 
> IMPORTANT EDIT: Many of you have been after this for almost a year and I'm very pleased to announce that the onesie scene now has the most wonderful fanart, drawn by the fabulous an_odd_ducky, which can be found here: 
> 
> http://an-odd-ducky.tumblr.com/post/153931672256/come-now-thorinits-really-not-that-bad


	44. Chapter 44

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thorin decides to take James up on his offer and, in true Yorkshire fashion, there will be sheep.
> 
> I’m also very excited to announce that in this chapter I’ll be introducing the fic’s first trans character, and I’d like to give another nod to Caffin9 for yet another hour-long phone call and yet more great advice!
> 
> Fancasts for this chapter’s three OCs can be found at the bottom of the page :)

 

At exactly ten-thirty, Thorin heard the soft chime of the front doorbell. Getting to his feet, he smiled to himself: he was left unsurprised that James had clearly timed his journey over from Ilkley to the minute. With Dis, Fili, and Kili away at school, he and Dain were the only ones left in the house, and so Thorin moved into the hallway, fingers reaching up to adjust his grey beanie, the only sound the heavy thud of the hiking boots he had invested in for their impending walk up on the moors. His waterproof jacket was also new and Thorin felt it aged him too much, but when he had moaned about this fact, Fili had pointed out that his only audience today would be the local sheep, and from her experience, the animals had very little fashion sense.

Opening the door, Thorin found James waiting for him and with his tweed elbow-patches and flat cap, the older soldier was very much the picture of a perfect Yorkshireman.

“Good morning, Thorin,” James said quietly, with a small smile.

“Morning,” Thorin returned, urging Dain out the door so he could lock up.

“I’ll go and get the boot open for you.”

James returned to his car parked in the driveway: an eerily military-looking Land Rover that bore the faded brown splatters of dry mud across the bottom of its doors. Thorin supposed it was the kind of car that was needed when living up dirt tracks in the middle of nowhere. Dropping his keys into his pocket, Thorin walked around the car to where James was speaking quietly to Myrtle, his black Labrador. The boot was spacious, and with a thick, tartan blanket pushed right to its corners, it also looked very comfy. Dain needed very little encouragement to jump up and settle himself down next to Myrtle. The two sniffed at each other with interest, until Dain decided to lick Myrtle’s nose and she nuzzled back, tail wagging.

“Well, that settles that then,” James said, a hint of wryness in his tone as he studied the dogs.

After shutting the boot, the two men climbed into the car and were soon backing out of the driveway, already Ilkley-bound. Thorin had offered to make his own way there, but as this would involve him getting a bus, then a train, then another bus, James had insisted on picking him up, saying he wouldn’t mind the drive. Thorin suspected James was in the habit of going out for long drives when the weather was too poor to go out on the moors.

“I’m just going to give Linda a call,” James announced, after they had turned out of Thorin’s road.

He reached forward and began pressing at the very sophisticated-looking touch-screen panel between them which, Thorin noted, had previously featured a Sat Nav map, guiding James to his house. Now the words ‘Calling Home…’ appeared in an electric green font before the sounds of ringing filled the car.

After two rings, a woman answered: “Hello?”

“Hello, love, it’s me,” James replied, keeping his eyes on the road. “Just ringing to let you know I’ve picked Thorin up. ETA: forty-five minutes.”

“Oh, lovely,” Linda replied. “I’ll make sure the kettle’s boiling when you get in and I’ll set the scones out to cool now.”

It was with a faint pang in a corner of his heart (one that had been untouched for some time), that Thorin realised Linda sounded a little like his mother. They had the same, long Yorkshire vowels while retaining a soft eloquence that meant they avoided dropping their ‘Ts’.

“Thank you, dear,” James said, and a sideways glance confirmed that his usually stoic façade had cracked to reveal a tell-tale fondness.

“Can you ask Thorin if he would prefer fruit or cheese scones?”

“You’re on speaker, love: he can hear you.”

“Oh, of course! Hello, Thorin, dear!”

Thorin felt his stomach tighten at being addressed, but he still managed a quiet ‘hello’.

“I’ve got a batch of fruit and cheese scones in the oven now, but I can serve either… or both if you’d prefer?” Linda continued.

“Er… fruit scones would be… nice,” Thorin replied, still finding talking to a disembodied voice a little strange.

“Lovely, well I’ll set them out on their cooling racks in about twenty minutes… I usually serve them with clotted cream – I had it sitting in the oven all yesterday, it’s not my best batch, but it’ll do – and strawberry jam, but if there’s anything else you’d like…?”

“No, um, that… that sounds fine,” Thorin answered. Clearly, Graham and James weren’t kidding when it came to Linda’s skills as a cook.

“Excellent!”

Linda didn’t seem at all put off by Thorin’s stuttering, but then Thorin chided himself for thinking a woman who was married to an Ered Luin outpatient and virtually ran a home away from home for the rest of the support group would be bothered by someone struggling to get their words out.

“Oh, and James, do make sure you stop for your break at York Gate.”

“We will, not to worry, love.”

“You know I’ll know if you don’t.”

Linda’s voice had taken on a vaguely threatening air, and Thorin couldn’t help but smile. It also reminded him that he should probably text Dis to let her know he’d been collected safely. Pulling his mobile from his pocket, he was tapping out a fairly taciturn message when Linda spoke again with a sigh.

“James, the sheep is back in the garden.”

Thorin looked up from his phone, one eyebrow raised.

James’ fingers flexed around the steering wheel. “The sheep is only back in the garden because you keep feeding it, you mad woman.”

“Oh, I haven’t been feeding it… I think it must be eating the bread I throw out for the birds.”

The trace of fondness was back in James’ expression. “You mean the bread you’ve been putting near the gaps in the dry stone wall?”

“I haven’t been putting it near the wall, the birds have been moving it… this wind hasn’t helped either.”

This time it was James’ turn to sigh. “Fine, well, if it’s still there when we get back, Myrtle and I will chase it out.”

“Thank you, dear, now you focus on getting yourself home… and remember to stop on York Gate.”

“We will.”

“I’ll know.”

“Yes, love.”

“And I’ll see you soon, Thorin!”

“See you soon,” Thorin echoed, smiling as he sent off his text to Dis.

James hung up the call, his eyes returning to the road. It was a while before anyone spoke again, but as this was the most Thorin had ever heard James speak at all, it didn’t really bother him. As Graham had predicted, he quite liked that he and James were cut from the same cloth, and so the silence between them was comfortable rather than awkward.

“Linda likes me to have breaks when I’m driving,” James said, after a while. “I suppose she worries.”

Thorin nodded thoughtfully. “My family is the same.”

They shared another silence, Thorin turning to look out the window and watch as dark green hills began to sprout up everywhere as they moved away from the city centre. It was then that it occurred to Thorin that he had agreed to spend the day with James, but that he knew very little about the man sitting next to him. There were obvious similarities of course, but Thorin didn’t think it fair to define James by them.

“How long have you and Linda been married?” he asked, hoping this was a safe enough question to ask.

“Twenty-nine years.”

“Oh.” Thorin tried and failed to hide his surprise, which was noticeably tinged with awe. He glanced across at James again, realising he didn’t actually know how old the soldier was. “Were you… young when you got married?”

James took a few moments to answer: “I was twenty-three… Linda was thirty-two. She used to call me her ‘army toy-boy’.”

Thorin smiled, doing some quick calculations in his head. Linda was only a few years younger than his mother.

“Her family didn’t approve at first… but when Linda made it clear she was going to marry me with or without their blessing, they changed their tune pretty quickly.”

The silence returned for a time, both of them glancing towards the boot to check in with their respective Labradors, who were now snuggled close, but they pulled apart to give excited pants when they spotted their partners looking in their direction.

“Do you have children?” Thorin asked, fairly stunned at how good he was getting at this whole small talk business.

James didn’t answer, his lips pursed, and something flickered across his gaze which made Thorin want to bail out of the moving car. Chest tightening, he was opening his mouth to retract the question when James answered.

“We tried, for a time, but it seems it just wasn’t meant to be,” he said, voice low and calm, the flicker all but vanished. “I suppose it was for the best in the end: we were constantly on the move during the early days of my career… Linda worked in the army schools, and she loved those children as if they were her own.”

Thorin nodded, still cursing himself for discovering a potential minefield topic only twenty minutes into their day together. Bloody typical.

“She enjoys the visits from Group members,” James continued, and Thorin sensed the older man was trying to ease some of his guilt. “So you’re in for quite a bit of mothering, I’m afraid.”

Thorin managed a smile at that. “I don’t mind.”

They drove along York Gate until they found a suitable lay-by, and then James pulled in, switching off the engine. He got out of the car and Thorin followed suit, watching as he opened the boot and urged Myrtle to hop down. Dain clambered after her and together the two inspected a nearby tree, deciding whether or not it was worthy of their business.

Keeping the boot door raised, James leant against the tartan blanket and Thorin mimicked him as they both eyed the Labradors snuffling at the tree’s gnarled, mossy roots. The sky above them was overcast, the unbroken clouds making it a grey, papery colour, but the wind was light and the day pleasantly cool. The lack of rain meant that the moors wouldn’t be too muddy: it was perfect walking weather.

Once Myrtle and Dain had trotted back to snuffle at their partner’s hands and receive fond strokes, they all piled back into the car for the last leg of their journey. The landscape had grown pleasingly rural now, all towering buildings and clusters of lights swallowed up by waves of hills and fields cut into slightly irregular squares by the endless lines of dry stone walls. The roads became rougher and narrower the closer they got to the moor and they met fewer and fewer cars, meaning their way to the isolated farmhouse was unimpeded… That was, of course, until they met a certain type of roadblock native to such countryside settings.

Thorin and James stared at the five sheep currently milling about in the middle of the road, and the five sheep stared back, affecting a fairly disinterested air as they continued to bleat quietly at each other.

“Damn sheep,” James muttered. “I’ve told Farmer Maggot about the holes in his walls.”

He revved the engine a few times, edging the Land Rover forward, but the sheep didn’t even flinch, only stared back, mouths moving slowly as they chewed on with disturbing defiance.

“Would it bother you if I honked the horn?” James asked, looking over at Thorin, his expression careful.

“Oh… er, no, I should be alright,” Thorin replied. He hadn’t reacted badly to loud noises for months, since he first arrived back in England, but he appreciated James’ concern.

“I’ll honk three times,” James said, his expression still a little cautious. “Please tell me if you’d like me to stop.”

Thorin nodded, and so James pressed his hand down on the horn. The first long honk had little effect, but when James honked again, rolling the car further forward, the sheep, very begrudgingly, shuffled off to the side of the road, glaring at James and Thorin as they drove past.

“Sometimes I have to get Myrtle out,” James explained, as they left the unimpressed sheep behind. “She’s had enough experience as a sheepdog now I may enter her in a local competition.”

James delivered the line without humour, but there was still a telling crinkling around his eyes and so Thorin let out a low chuckle.

They arrived at the farmhouse only a few minutes late, despite their woolly roadblock, and James pulled the Land Rover into the farmhouse’s barn which had been converted into a garage. The farmhouse itself was charming: not overly imposing in its size, and with all its wooden beams and walls of patchwork stone, it looked like something out of a centuries-old novel.

Collecting the dogs from the boot, they entered through a side-door that connected the garage to the house. Thorin instantly found himself in James’ very large, very warm kitchen which was filled with the homely scents of baking and brewing tea.

“Ah, there you are!” Linda dried her hands on a tea towel, before slinging it over her shoulder and coming to greet them, smoothing down her floral apron as she walked. She was a slim woman with short, silver-grey hair and warm, brown eyes that were full of light. They only seemed to grow brighter as she greeted James, pulling affectionately at his scarf as he leaned down to peck a kiss to her cheek.

“Linda, this is Thorin and Dain,” James said, gesturing in Thorin’s direction, the tips of his fingers lingering at his wife’s hip.

“It’s lovely to meet you, Thorin,” Linda said, turning to smile at him.

Having heard about Linda’s maternal nature, Thorin had prepared himself for a crushing hug, but the older woman only continued to study him with a warm smile. It took Thorin probably a few beats too long to realise Linda was waiting for him to demonstrate what level of contact he was comfortable with… He was still getting used to being in the presence of strangers who actually understood him far more than other people did.

Both Linda and James seemed unfazed by the awkward silence, and it gave Thorin the courage to tentatively hold out his hand. “Thank you for having me,” he said softly.

“Oh, we’re very glad to have you here,” Linda replied, taking his hand in both her own and squeezing it warmly.

James moved forward then and went to a row of large wooden pegs behind Thorin. He hung up his flat cap and then began shucking off his coat. Thorin did the same, removing his jacket and passing it to James, who also took his rucksack and settled it on a shelf above their shoe rack. The older man knew better than to offer his hand for Thorin’s beanie as well.  

“Come and sit down, won’t you, Thorin?” Linda prompted, indicating the large wooden table at the centre of the kitchen.

Thorin nodded, taking a seat at one end and taking in the very impressive spread Linda had laid out. There were two piles of halved fruit scones at the centre of the table with small pots of clotted cream and various jams, along with bowls of crumbling white and brown sugar cubes, and a small jug of milk. A china cup and saucer were set in front of him and Thorin realised this was probably the first time he was going to be drinking tea out of a china cup since he was seven and visiting his grandparents.

Having unclipped Dain’s lead, the Labrador had been settling down by his feet when he suddenly went rigid and staggered back up again, his ears twitching.

“Dain?” Thorin murmured, scratching the Labrador’s ears.

He followed Dain’s gaze and was surprised to find a large black cat sitting on the window sill, idly licking at one paw. Well, Thorin supposed, there were certain engrained instincts that even copious amounts of training would struggle to budge. A rumble sounded from Dain and the cat looked up, narrowing its eyes and giving a faint hiss.

“Oh, Sabbath,” Linda chided, before pulling the cat off the sill. “Sorry, Thorin, we thought we’d got her used to canine visitors by now… I’ll go and put her in the study.”

Thorin watched Linda leave with Sabbath, the black cat, cradled to her chest and silently struggled to get his head around an older couple like Linda and James having a cat named after a heavy metal band. Perhaps this was a story for his and James’ walk on the moors.

“Do help yourself to scones,” James said, breaking Thorin from his musings.

Thorin returned a small smile, reaching for a fruit scone from the plate closest to him and letting James pass him a knife to spread the cream and jam. Linda reappeared in the kitchen shortly afterwards and came to stand behind James, gently squeezing her husband’s shoulders as she smiled at Thorin loading the strawberry jam onto his scone.

“How strong do you like your tea, Thorin?” she asked, moving over to a large china teapot which was resting on a doily on the sideboard.

“I… er, I don’t really mind,” Thorin answered honestly, hoping this was an acceptable answer for someone who wasn’t really a connoisseur of tea.

“Well, this is looking quite a healthy colour,” Linda commented, before lifting the teapot and coming to pour some in Thorin’s cup. The liquid was dark amber and piping hot, its smell rich and inviting. She moved on to James’ cup and then her own, and then turned back to the sideboard, starting to tend to the plates in the sink.

“So, I take it your pet has cleared off?” James asked, handing Thorin the milk jug, his gaze flitting to Linda.

“Pet?” Linda replied, brow furrowed. “Oh, you mean the sheep… Yes, he got bored about ten minutes before you arrived, toddled off somewhere else.”

James gave a hum and started tending to his own tea, seeming content to let the matter of their adopted sheep drop. Linda continued to fuss in the sink, lifting soapy utensils onto the draining board to dry.  James was watching her with a fond expression, and Thorin was, for want of a better word, moved by the affection the couple seemed to have for each other, and the way it was communicated with little looks and touches. He thought of Kili’s words that summer, how his and Bilbo’s love had been ‘obvious’, and wondered if this is what they looked like to other people?

“Linda, stop faffing and sit down, you’ve been working all morning,” James said gently, when it seemed Linda was determined to wash up everything in her kitchen before she joined them at the table.

“I’m just going to finish the cutlery –” Linda began, but after a pointed look from her husband, she came and took a seat in front of her tea.

“So, Thorin, James tells me you live over in Chapel Allerton with your sister and her children?” Linda said, adding a lump of sugar to her tea.

Thorin swallowed his mouthful of scone before answering: “Yes, my niece and nephew.”

“Oh, how lovely – how old are they?”

“Fili is seventeen and Kili is twelve.”

Linda nodded, stirring her tea. “And I hear they get on wonderfully with your partner, which is always nice.”

Thorin slowly lowered his scone onto his plate, feeling his chest twinge. He hadn’t been sure if James and Linda knew about Bilbo: he’d never mentioned his relationship at support group, and he supposed he wasn’t sure how they, being from an older generation, would react to his being gay. He also didn’t know if they were aware that, just under a month ago, Bilbo had tried to take his own life. The thought only made the knot in Thorin’s chest twitch again and tighten.

“Oh… er, yes… they do… get on with him, yes,” Thorin stammered, feeling his face growing hot as he struggled to answer.

Linda’s smile had wavered and he didn’t miss the glance she cast at James. “Oh, I’m sorry, dear… I shouldn’t have said anything.”

Thorin discreetly reached his hand out under the table for Dain, whose head instantly appeared on his knee. “No… no, I, er, don’t mind.”

“Our apologies,” James said quietly, his expression deadpan. “If you wanted your relationship to remain private… Graham came to stay with us a few weeks ago…” He let out a slow sigh. “Again, we’re sorry if this is something you’d rather he hadn’t shared with us.”

Thorin finally cottoned onto the fact that the couple thought he had reacted in such a way because his relationship with Bilbo wasn’t supposed to be public knowledge. He guessed the best thing to do was assuage their concerns: “My… my relationship with Bilbo isn’t… well, it’s not a secret… My family know and I… I think the entirety of Ered Luin’s nursing staff know about it…”

Thorin didn’t miss the wryness that appeared in both James and Linda’s expressions as he spoke, he just wasn’t sure how to explain to them that he’d only started being open about his sexuality this summer, that he’d never told his own parents.

“I… it’s taken me a while to tell people,” Thorin said, shaping his words carefully, gaze focused on the cup of tea in front of him as he scratched at Dain’s ears. “I never really know how people are going to… react.”

Linda’s brown eyes became round and sympathetic as she reached for her husband’s hand on the table. “Oh, Thorin dear, you don’t have to worry about us… I think there’s enough hate and horridness in this world that all love should be celebrated.”

She squeezed James’ hand as she spoke, and James turned to look at Thorin, his stony expression resolute rather than damning. “I agree that people should be allowed to love who they want, and it’s not for anyone else to judge.”

Thorin managed a small smile, his chest swelling with warmth, overtaking the ache. “Thank you,” he murmured.

The kitchen table fell into silence and Thorin focused on taking another bite of his scone. Warmth continued to flow from James and Linda, but still he sensed some tension lingering in the quiet as the couple waited for him to pick a topic of conversation he was comfortable with.

Wanting to show that he held absolutely no animosity towards them for bringing up Bilbo, or for knowing about his relationship in the first place, Thorin turned to James: “Did you know Bilbo… whilst you were at Ered Luin?”

“I can’t really say I knew him,” James replied slowly, setting down his cup. “We spoke briefly a couple of times, but I was quite content to keep myself to myself during my stay there.”

“Misanthropic is what you were,” Linda said, with good-natured scolding. “Honestly, I’ve known hermits who were more pleasant company.”

Thorin couldn’t help but smile as James rolled his eyes, sharing in the older man’s pain, having had this conversation more than once with Dis when he was first admitted. Equally, it seemed very admirable that James had broken away from his antisocial habits enough to not only attend Faramir’s support group but also open his home to its members on a regular basis.

“I simply had no interest in dabbling in the hospital’s social hierarchy,” James commented quietly, sipping his tea.

Thorin raised an eyebrow. “Social hierarchy?”

James studied him for a few moments. “I suppose you may not have noticed it… It’s not as rigid as the hierarchy of ranks in the Forces, but patients tended to fall into cliques, depending on various things: rank, age, experiences, length of stay. Bilbo and the older chap with the beard, they were right at the top.”

“I… I never realised,” Thorin admitted, his mind manically flicking through his time at Ered Luin, trying to pick out signs that this hierarchy actually existed… Had he, very unwittingly, found himself at the top of the social ranks whilst an inpatient? It seemed James thought so.

“It’s not a malicious thing,” James continued calmly. “It’s natural for people living in close-quarters for any amount of time to form groups: a kind of social structure.”

“Yes, but this charming man here was happy to avoid any kind of social structure and simply study it, a regular David Attenborough,” Linda said in gentle teasing, smiling across at her husband.

Thorin wondered if Linda would feel better if he told her that James, whether he liked it or not, was actually at the top of the support group’s ‘social hierarchy’.

“Would you like some more tea, Thorin?” Linda asked, when it was clear her husband wasn’t going to respond to her joshing.

“Please,” Thorin smiled.

Linda rose to fill up the kettle and James pushed the pile of scones closer to Thorin’s plate.

 

…

 

After Thorin had drained his second cup of tea and the mountain of scones had been demolished, he and James pulled their coats back on and got ready for their afternoon excursion onto the moors. Myrtle and Dain were noticeably excitable, both Labradors gleefully wagging their tails as leads were clipped to their collars. Thorin didn’t miss the silent argument between James and Linda when the latter collected Myrtle’s hi-vis jacket from the shelf beneath the coats. Thorin hadn’t noticed anything amiss when Myrtle had been without it on their journey to Ilkley, but now it seemed James was in the habit of trying to make him and his assistance dog look as inconspicuous as possible. Thorin couldn’t say he blamed him, although he decided to stay well out of the couple’s wordless exchange.

Eventually, James relented and Linda pressed a consoling kiss to his forehead as he fixed Myrtle’s coat in place. Straightening up, Linda handed over his rucksack which she had filled with sandwiches in plastic wrapping, bottles of water, and an enormous thermos flask of tea.

“You’ll ring me at two o’ clock,” Linda said, fixing James’ scarf for him. Thorin sensed this wasn’t a question: it was an order, and not one to be disobeyed lightly.

“Yes, dear,” James replied, an unmistakable humour in his tone.

“Well, I hope the weather holds out for you.” Linda stepped back, her smile turning to Thorin. “And I’ll see you in a couple of hours.”

James led the way along the foot of the moors and they kept following the narrow track for a good fifteen minutes before beginning the steeper climb up onto the grassy hills. When arranging the visit over the phone, Thorin had admitted to his current lack of physical fitness, and although he didn’t comment, Thorin guessed James’ periodic pauses during their ascent were much more for Thorin’s benefit than his own.

The air became much colder as they began walking across the top of the moors: Thorin zipped his waterproof up further and fastened the collar. They hadn’t been following the trail long when the famous Cow and Calf rock formation appeared in the distance. There was one large, dark grey outcrop – the ‘cow’ – accompanied by a smaller boulder, or ‘calf’. Thorin still remembered climbing the boulder with Frerin when they were in their early teens. His brother had ripped open his knuckles trying to scramble after Thorin, and Thorin had had to drag him up onto the top of boulder before he fell.

“Shall we stop here for some tea?” James suggested, after they had been walking for about forty minutes. The older man gestured to a cluster of rocks that had been flattened by decades of hikers stopping for respite: they looked the perfect place to perch and refuel.

Thorin, wincing as a pesky stitch needled at his side, only nodded and staggered gratefully down onto one of the rocks. James took a seat at his side and began rooting through his bag for the thermos flask. Dain settled himself between Thorin’s knees and Thorin sank his fingers into the thick fur at his neck, breathing slowly as he stared out across the moors. The sky was still dominated by a blanket of pale grey, featureless clouds, but there were a few bright blue pockets dotted along the horizon where yellowing light was streaming through.

“Tea,” James said gently, sounding almost reluctant as he guided Thorin’s gaze away from the view to the silver thermos cup in his hand that contained steaming, sweet-smelling tea.

“Thank you,” Thorin replied, taking the small cup and wrapping his fingers around it, sighing as it began to warm his hands.

A sideways glance confirmed that James was also holding a cup between his hands as his eyes moved across the moor. Myrtle had come to rest her head on his knee and she closed her eyes with a satisfied huff. He and James had exchanged few words as they had trekked across the moors and Thorin couldn’t say that he minded: the quiet companionship was a welcome change, and it seemed only to highlight that other people generally did talk an awful lot.

They had been sitting in silence for a long time when James carefully lowered his cup into his lap and turned to Thorin. “Do you want to talk about your readmission?” he asked quietly.

Thorin’s stomach gave a sickly jolt, and he slipped one hand back into Dain’s fur. The question had been blunt, but he supposed James was not one for euphemisms and for skirting around the issue. He either didn’t speak at all or was direct in his questioning… and Thorin, in many ways, was grateful for that. James didn’t appear to be disquieted by his answering silence and he simply continued to sip his tea, patiently waiting for Thorin’s response.

“Do you know why I was readmitted?” Thorin asked, after a few slow breaths. He thought it would be best if he, too, took a direct approach to the conversation.

James’ gaze was steady, betraying nothing, as he replied: “I do, yes.”

Thorin lowered his head in a stiff nod. He waited, expecting the older man’s condolences, as had been offered by countless others… as if Bilbo had actually died. But none came. James was studying him carefully, and his look was one of understanding, not of pity.

“I wish I had some whiskey to put in this cup,” Thorin muttered, looking down into the dregs of his tea. He was surprised that it had taken him this long since the bullet to admit missing alcohol, but the situation reminded him of the evenings where he used to report to his commanding officer for debriefing and they would discuss the day’s events over a decanter of Scotch.

To Thorin’s surprise, James let out a low chuckle. “Yes,” he said softly. “I suppose it would be welcome right now.”

There were a few more moments of silence, before Thorin spoke again: “I never thought I’d be readmitted… I guess I felt like I’d already served my time.”

Thorin wasn’t sure he was quite ready to discuss Bilbo just yet, and so he broached the topic that most united him and James, that had drawn them out onto the moors together.

“It is a difficult thing to come to terms with,” James agreed, his eyes distant as they settled on a fixed point on the horizon. “It took me a few weeks to stop seeing it as a failure on my part, but then, after a while, I saw it as a necessary evil.”

Thorin’s gaze was questioning as he turned to James, and after a minute or so, the older man continued.

“My mistake was believing that the road to recovery is linear, that there are no wrong turns or roadblocks. I soon discovered that sometimes respites are necessary, to rest and refuel, so we can continue.”

Thorin smiled, surprised by the poetic nature of James’ words. “That’s a good analogy.”

“Linda made me write it down into a sort of poem,” James said, a now familiar fondness creeping into his tone. “She emailed it straight over to Dr. Grey. He’s got a framed copy in his office.”

“Really?” Thorin said, suitably impressed. “I’ll have to read it when I have my next session.”

“It is, admittedly, better than the first piece of homework I produced for our dear doctor.”

Thorin thought back to the ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ lyrics he had once scrawled on a piece of scrap paper. “Oh?”

“It went a little something like: ‘I’m fed up of all my problems being inside my head, I wish I’d broken my bloody leg instead.’”

“But I’m sure Dr. Grey loved that,” Thorin laughed, making sure he memorised the little jiggle so he could recite it to Bilbo later.

“Oh, he did,” James replied. “We sat and analysed those two lines for almost an hour.”

The two shared another laugh, and then James set about pouring them both a second cup of tea. They spent some time speaking in low tones to Myrtle and Dain, and then Thorin’s eyes were moving over the expanses of green fields laid out at their feet, following the stony walls that snaked off into the distance. His thoughts returned to Bilbo, to that godforsaken bathroom, and then his mind suddenly snapped on another connection he shared with James: they were both in a relationship with someone they loved dearly, only Thorin supposed his current position, in some ways, was closer to Linda’s than to James’. He had spent several long nights trying to think about what he would have done if Bilbo had been discharged before him, if Bilbo had been the one having to travel to visit him every day whilst rebuilding his life in the outside world. But he found he could never draw the same conclusions as Bilbo had done… But maybe James could help him understand.

“Bilbo thought I would be better off without him,” Thorin said, suddenly breaking the silence, and James looked up, fingers stilling under Myrtle’s chin. “He tried to get me to leave him… more than once. When that didn’t work he… he tried to leave me a different way.”

James’ expression remained as stoic as ever, but Thorin could see the old soldier was carefully weighing up his responses. “You wish to know if I can relate?” he asked, his voice little more than a whisper.

“If… that’s alright?” Thorin said, tone cautious.

Taking a sip of his tea, James urged Myrtle a little closer and the black Labrador shuffled in between his knees. “Yes, I can understand Bilbo’s actions,” he said, gaze growing distant again. “When I was first admitted, I asked Linda to leave me… repeatedly. Sometimes several times a day.”

“But she wouldn’t?” Thorin asked, struggling to picture James wanting to be parted from his wife of almost thirty years at such a difficult time in his life.

“No, she would mostly just pretend I hadn’t said anything and continue fluffing my pillows,” James replied, and there was humour there, although Thorin sensed the sadness lurking behind it. “Other times, she would talk very loudly over me about the WI’s latest bake sale…or she would recite our vows: ‘in sickness and in health’. Finally, she got so cross with me that she marched me straight to Dr. Grey’s office like a naughty child and asked him to tell me to stop being such a ‘bloody stupid fool’.”

Thorin’s lips twitched into a smile. “And did he?”

“Not quite, but he did sign us up to three weeks’ worth of marriage counselling, and after that I never asked her again.”

Thorin was glad to hear it. He’d only really known James and Linda for a few hours, but he still couldn’t quite stomach the thought of their decades-long marriage being ripped apart by James’ illness.

“You really wanted Linda to leave you?” he murmured, aware that he was now approaching minefield territory and preparing himself to retreat at any moment.

James’ cheeks had grown a little paler as he stared across at Thorin, who was about to move the conversation onto other topics, but then he spoke: “My case was unusual in that I wasn’t directly admitted to Ered Luin on my return to England.” He stroked a hand over Myrtle’s forehead and she licked his wrist in encouragement. “My retirement from the Forces didn’t go as planned… My last tour was difficult, but coming home was harder. It took a very long time for me to accept that anything was wrong: it was over two years before I sought any kind of medical help.”

Thorin lowered his head in understanding, knowing James didn’t want his sympathy. “What changed?” he asked softly.

James’ stoic profile cracked for a split second before the stony reserve returned. “Would it be acceptable to you if I asked that what I’m about to share go no further?”

“Of… of course,” Thorin replied, feeling his stomach squirm again as an array of possible disclosures flashed through his mind. “I won’t tell anyone.”

“I was a very difficult person to live with during that time,” James continued, seemingly unable to look Thorin in the eye. “I was withdrawn, irritable, apathetic, sometimes argumentative… but Linda never once raised her voice to me, she just kept going: more resilient than most of the soldiers I’ve served with.”

Thorin stayed silent, an ache starting to uncurl deep inside his chest as he sensed the inevitable ending of James’ story.

“One evening I was slipping in and out of hallucinatory states, I could barely distinguish between reality and memory… I was going to hurt myself, and when Linda tried to stop me, I didn’t know who she was and I… I struck her instead.”

James’ voice cracked as he finished and Thorin bowed his head.

“In almost thirty years, I’d never once raised a hand to my wife… When I became lucid again, I was disgusted with myself. Linda called an ambulance and they took us to the Airedale. I was transferred to Ered Luin the next morning. She forgave me the moment it happened, but I couldn’t forgive myself… and that’s why I asked her to leave me.”

Thorin swallowed, sensing the pain surrounding James like an aura. “You were in the middle of an episode,” he said gently. “You didn’t know what you were doing.”

James’ gaze was focused on Myrtle as he took a few quiet breaths. “I still take responsibility for my actions… That’s why I believed Linda deserved better, that she needed someone whole, of sound mind, to be a proper husband to her.”

And there it was: Bilbo’s words coming out of James’ mouth. Thorin rubbed a hand across his beard, closing his eyes for a moment.

“Bilbo tried to leave you because he loves you, because he didn’t want to hurt you, because he thought you deserved more than he could give you.”

“Yes,” Thorin whispered, feeling his eyes begin to sting. “But… how am I supposed to show him that he’s wrong? That he’s more than good enough for me?” He looked over at James, thinking about the way he had watched Linda move around the kitchen, about the little brushes and touches between them. “What did you and Linda do?”

A small smile finally returned to James’ lips. “We’re thankful for each day we have together, and we try to show the love we have for each other in any way possible. Linda reminds me every day why she’s glad I’m still here… and I thank God every day for sending me that wonderful woman.”

Thorin mirrored James’ smile, feeling the pain dissipating into the cool air that hung between them. Being thankful for each day, showing their love for each other in different ways: he and Bilbo could definitely manage that.

“Thank you… for telling me,” Thorin said, hoping James knew how sincerely he appreciated him sharing what was obviously a very painful story.

“I hope it has given you some answers,” James said, his tone warm.

“I think it has.”

They shared a few moments of quiet, giving them both time to process the conversation, and then James’ hand moved to Myrtle’s collar. “Shall we continue to the Cow and Calf?”

Thorin nodded, reaching for Dain’s lead. “Okay.”

They packed away the thermos flask, shouldered their rucksacks, and returned to the trail, respective Labradors falling into step by their sides.

“Although I still have one question,” Thorin said, glancing across at James.

“Oh?”

“How did you come to have a black cat named Sabbath?”

James let out a surprised chuckle. “I chaperoned Linda’s nieces when they attended a concert in 2005… I found I quite liked their music.”

“Really?”

“Yes… are you a fan?”

“I’m more of an alternative rock man… Queen mostly.”

“I quite like Queen. I think Linda still has a few of their early records up in the attic…”

And so on the conversation went as they continued following the curving path that led to the cluster of large grey rocks dominating the green horizon.

 

…

 

They remembered to call Linda at two o’ clock, and an hour later the two men trudged back into the warm kitchen. Thorin’s muscles were aching and sore, and he was absolutely exhausted, but he felt more healthy and refreshed than he had done in a long time. Linda plied them with more tea and scones before she proceeded to pull out several photo albums and talk Thorin through the early years of her marriage. James added to her commentary intermittently, but was mostly just content to sit and watch his wife with quiet, reserved affection. Thorin had to try very hard not to panic and make inhuman noises when Linda unearthed her 1975 seven inch vinyl of ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ and told him it was his to keep. And then, all too soon it seemed, Thorin’s time in Ilkley was at an end. Now he knew James was aware of his relationship with Bilbo, he admitted that he was going to be spending the night at Ered Luin with him and had intended to get the bus to the hospital after being dropped off at home. James, however, wouldn’t hear of it: he insisted on driving Thorin to Ered Luin himself and Linda subsequently provided more scones with cream and jam for him and Bilbo to share.

The drive back to Leeds was quiet, with no roadblocks, four-legged or otherwise, to speak of and then Thorin and James parted ways in the hospital car park, with Thorin thanking the older man profusely and James insisting that he not be a stranger and come and visit them again.

Thorin found he had developed a slight limp as he made his way to the lift, the muscles in his right leg protesting against the day’s unusually taxing excursions, but still he found he was in high spirits as the lift doors slid shut. And that was when he noticed the young porter standing next to him, with an older, wheel-chair bound woman in tow, do quite a violent double-take. Trying not to look too uncomfortable, Thorin cast the teenager a sideways glance and then felt his stomach leap almost into his chest. It was Rowan. In pale green scrubs. With a patient. Thorin and Rowan had never actually spoken, but he had seen him out and about on the ward enough to recognise him… and clearly Rowan knew exactly who he was too. He offered the porter a warm smile, which was tentatively returned as the lift chimed and he wheeled the woman away onto a different ward.

Thorin was still smiling to himself as he was buzzed through the doors and made his way to the nurses’ station, where he was greeted by Radagast.

“Good evening, Thorin,” the old nurse said cheerfully, handing him the sign-in sheet.

“Thorin, just a head’s up…” Rosie appeared at Radagast’s side. “Graham’s still in Bilbo’s room, but I think he’s on his way out.”

Thorin nodded. He knew Bilbo had asked Graham to visit him today, so that they could talk about what happened last week, and he had assured both parties that he had no problem with their meeting. “Did… everything go okay?” he asked carefully.

“Yeah, fine,” Rosie replied. “I kept popping my head in, nothing to report.”

“Right…” He glanced over at Bilbo’s door. “Should I wait or…?”

“Nah, go in and say hello – I think they’ll both appreciate it,” came Rosie’s response, accompanied with a knowing smile.

With this gentle reassurance, Thorin made his way over to Bilbo’s room… and walked in to find the two men hugging each other good bye. He stopped in the doorway, breathing in slowly, reminding himself that no territorial displays were necessary.

“Thorin!” Bilbo’s eyes were full of light as he pulled away from Graham and came to meet him with a smile that was clearly meant for no one else.

“Alright, mate?” Graham said, holding out his hand. “How was the moor?”

Thorin shook his hand firmly, lest he earn a glare from Bilbo. “Good… really good. It was nice to get some fresh air.”

“Told you it would be,” Graham grinned. “Right, well, I’ll be off. You two have a good evening and I’ll see you on Tuesday, Thorin.”

“See you on Tuesday,” Thorin nodded, and then Graham was leading Florence out of the room, speaking to her quietly about the plans he had for their own evening.

Thorin turned to Bilbo, who had moved in front of him, and the younger man rose onto his toes so he could press a soft kiss to Thorin’s mouth. Dropping Dain’s lead, Thorin ran his fingers up the sleeves of Bilbo’s burgundy and blue striped sweater – definitely a good call from Fili – and then lifted his hands up to cup Bilbo’s face, thumbs gently stroking over his cheeks as he deepened the kiss. Just one way he could show Bilbo how much he loved him.

It was a long time before Bilbo pulled away, but still Thorin let out a soft sound of protest. Bilbo kissed his shoulder to shush him.

“You were limping when you walked in,” he said quietly, voice edged with concern.

“Oh, it’s… it’s nothing. I think I pulled a muscle when we were walking.”

“You should come and lie down.”

Bilbo slowly drew him over to the bed and he dropped his rucksack to the floor. Dain followed them, lead trailing behind him, and Bilbo gave the Labrador’s ears a good scratch as he unclipped the lead and coiled it up on the chair.

“Right, let’s get these boots off,” Bilbo said, eyeing Thorin’s hiking boots as he dangled his legs over the side of the bed.

“I can do it,” Thorin insisted, trying to reach down, but Bilbo batted his hands away.

“You’ll hurt your leg,” he said gently, dropping down to crouch in front of him and beginning to tug at the laces.

“You’re making me feel old.”

Bilbo pulled off the first boot and kissed Thorin’s ankle. “You are old.”

Thorin jerked his foot forward, making sure he did actually miss Bilbo’s nose, and Bilbo only laughed. Once the second boot had been removed, Bilbo lifted Thorin’s legs and helped him lie back against the pillows. Thorin settled onto his side, watching Bilbo tidy up his things as the first few notes of sleep’s siren song sounded in his ears. He felt the bed dip as Bilbo clambered up next to him. He had fully intended to roll over and face him, but then Bilbo was pressing himself against his back, one arm curling around his waist… this was different. But a nice kind of different. He let out a contented sigh as Bilbo’s lips brushed against the bottom of his neck.

“Go to sleep, love,” Bilbo murmured. “I’ll wake you when they start serving dinner.”

And so go to sleep Thorin did.

 

…

 

A few days and a few hot baths later, Thorin found he could walk across the ward without limping. He arrived in Bilbo’s room and found the younger man sitting in one of the chairs by the window, his hands folded in his lap, as if he were waiting for someone other than Thorin.

Bilbo rose to greet him, kissing his cheek as they embraced, but then he returned to the chair and began fiddling with the sleeve of his dark green cardigan. Slightly confused, Thorin took a seat opposite him and settled Dain down at his side. He didn’t miss the glance Bilbo cast over his shoulder towards the door.

“Are we… expecting someone else?” Thorin asked carefully, turning to follow Bilbo’s gaze.

Bilbo shifted in his chair and flattened out the collar of his cardigan. “I had my session with Gandalf yesterday… I’m not actually sure how it happened, but we ended up getting onto the topic and… well, he’s organised my referral to Dr. Cox.”

“Oh,” Thorin said, trying to stop his eyes widening as buds of unexpected giddiness began opening at the bottom of his stomach. “Right… So we’re expecting Dr. Cox?”

Bilbo nodded, and Thorin tried and failed to understand the source of his somewhat guilty expression. “Yes… I hope you don’t mind that I went ahead and asked for the referral?”

“Of course not,” Thorin replied, brow furrowed. “It’s your decision, Bilbo.”

“I know… but I’m guessing speaking to Dr. Cox is part of ‘Operation Ganesh’, and we’re supposed to be doing that together…”

Thorin leaned forward and reached for Bilbo’s hand, running his thumb over his knuckles. “You’re right that getting you some appointments with Dr. Cox is one of our mission objectives, but I really don’t mind… I’m glad you wanted to organise this.”

And Thorin really was glad, more than glad even – he was positively giddy. There was a time not so long ago that even hearing Dr. Cox’s name brought back horrible memories of Bilbo’s phantom sessions and all the lying that went with it, but now Thorin was simply full of hope for the future. He tried to communicate this feeling in the grin he flashed at Bilbo, but then he felt the slight tremble of the younger man’s fingers enclosed in his.

“Bilbo?” he asked gently. “What’s wrong?”

“Just nervous, I suppose,” Bilbo replied, his smile not reaching his eyes as he squeezed Thorin’s fingers.

Thorin didn’t contradict him, he only waited, and then Bilbo let out a slow breath.

“What if Dr. Cox can’t help me?” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “What if we can’t… can’t ever have sex… at least not properly… or at all?”

Thorin's heart ached to see Bilbo looking so defeated and when he dropped his gaze into his lap, Thorin slid out of the chair and came to sit on the edge of the table, so that he was right in front of him. His hands reached up to Bilbo’s face, lifting it so that he would meet his eyes.

“Bilbo, I love you,” Thorin said firmly. “And I will still love you and want to spend the rest of my life with you, even if we can’t have sex… Okay?”

Bilbo’s eyes searched his face, trying to find the lie, but it wasn’t there. Thorin’s thoughts tended not to dwell on the physical side of his and Bilbo’s relationship: he liked kissing Bilbo and holding him, he’d very much enjoyed their brief, if one-sided sexual encounters, and yes, he would very much like to make love to Bilbo… but if this was something that wasn’t meant to happen, he found that he could easily find a way to be okay with that. However, he wasn’t going to let his boyfriend get away with putting a negative spin on this triumphant piece of progress.

“But you’re giving me a run for my money with that defeatist attitude,” Thorin smiled, kissing Bilbo’s nose. “Positive thoughts, love…” He lowered his voice. “After Dr. Cox is done with us, we might be shagging in every store cupboard in Ered Luin.”

And that was when there was a light knock at the door. Bilbo let out a gust of laughter and Thorin screwed up his eyes, trying and failing to hide how horrified he was that he just might have been overheard. He then slowly turned towards the door and stopped. When Thorin thought about the sex therapist, he pictured some aging hippie with a tie-dye shawl, smelling vaguely of incense… He was, therefore, understandably surprised to find a very tall, impeccably dressed, young black woman standing in Bilbo’s doorway.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything?” Dr. Cox asked, with an amused quirk of her lips.

“Not at all,” Bilbo assured her, getting to his feet, and Thorin did the same.

“Oh good, it does tend to be an occupational hazard of mine,” the doctor said, her blue heels clicking on the floor as she moved forward to greet them.

She and Bilbo exchanged pleasantries and Thorin tried not to gawp at the fact that she was actually a good inch taller than him.

“You must be Thorin?” she asked, extending her hand with a warm smile.

“Yes,” Thorin replied, ensuring his mouth was shut as they shook hands.

Bilbo slipped back into his chair. Dr. Cox took a seat in Thorin’s former place, laying a black, leather-bound diary on the table, and so Thorin decided to perch on the arm of Bilbo’s chair, Dain manoeuvring himself so that he was once again sitting at his feet.

“So, as you know, Dr. Grey has referred you to me for a series of six appointments,” Dr. Cox began. “Am I right in thinking that you would like to see me on your own Bilbo, at least for our first few sessions?” She spoke with an accent that was soft and southern like Bilbo’s, but there was also a different twang that indicated either a London-based upbringing or education.

“Yes, if that’s alright?” Bilbo answered, he then glanced up at Thorin, who squeezed his shoulder in reassurance.

“Of course, and then it’s up to the two of you to decide at what point you would like these to become joint sessions… Although you’ll probably still be involved, Thorin, as I do tend to set a lot of homework.”

Bilbo’s smirk was instantaneous and Thorin sank a little further against the chair, feeling heat blossoming in his cheeks.  

“Is that a euphemism?” Bilbo asked, his smirk only growing more mischievous.

“Yes, sorry about that,” Dr. Cox answered. “I do try to avoid them, but in my line of work it can be quite difficult.”

Oh God, Thorin thought. He wasn’t sure whether seeing a sex therapist with a sense of humour was going to be a blessing or a curse.

“Now, I’ve got a couple of questionnaires for you to fill in, Bilbo,” Dr. Cox continued, pulling a brown envelope from inside her diary and handing it over. “If you could complete them and get them back to me via Dr. Grey, these will help me put together a loose plan for our sessions.”

“Thank you,” Bilbo murmured, accepting the envelope, studying the white label on the front of it.

“I’d like to book our first session in for next week, if that’s alright?” Dr. Cox opened her diary and flicked through a few pages to the correct dates. “How does next Wednesday at ten sound?”

“I’ll have to rearrange a few things, but that should be fine,” Bilbo replied, with a wry smile.

“Excellent…” Dr. Cox pulled a pen from her blouse pocket and scribbled the appointment into her diary. “Our first session won’t be anything heavy – just a discussion about our aims for these sessions, what you would like to achieve with them, maybe a brief chat about your sexual preferences and experiences, and anything you want to flag up for me to focus on in future sessions.”

Bilbo was nodding as Dr. Cox spoke, but Thorin saw the faintest crease of worry between his eyes and so he brushed his fingers lightly over his arm, trying to keep him in the moment and stop him worrying too much about the future.

“And how much will be shared with Dr. Grey?” Bilbo asked quietly, flexing his fingers around the brown envelope.

“Our sessions are completely confidential,” Dr. Cox replied. “I will ask Dr. Grey for access to your medical records before our first session, again to help me plan, but then I will only pass anything you tell me onto Dr. Grey if I think it presents an immediate danger to your wellbeing, and I will tell you if I have to share any information.”

“Well, that makes me feel a little better,” Bilbo said, straightening up with a smile. “There are a few things about my life I’d rather Gandalf didn’t know in detail.”

“You mean things we might be acting out with puppets?” Thorin murmured, and then froze. Had he actually just said that out loud? Judging by the look of amusement in Dr. Cox’s eyes, yes, he had just said that out loud.

“Puppets are a good idea, actually,” Dr. Cox said, closing her organiser. “I did have a set of Barbie dolls, but I soon discovered they simply weren’t flexible enough and had to invest in some custom-made dolls instead.”

Bilbo almost choked on his laugh, but Thorin only felt his cheeks grow even hotter. At this rate, he was sure he wasn’t going to survive any joint sessions with the doctor.

“Right, I’m afraid I’m going to have to head off,” Dr. Cox announced, checking her wrist watch and getting to her feet. “If you could get those questionnaires filled in and sent to me by Friday, Bilbo, that would be much appreciated.”

“Of course,” Bilbo said, standing so he could shake Dr. Cox’s hand again.

Thorin also rose to say goodbye and was once again confronted with the doctor’s staggering height. He tried not to look at her heels again as they shook hands, but then found that not only did his eyes drop to the floor, some words also managed to slip past his pesky filter: “You’re very tall.”

Dr. Cox returned a strange smile, studying him with a look he couldn’t place, and he was sure her eyes flitted behind him to Bilbo.

“Yes, but I’m afraid I won’t be giving up the heels any time soon,” the doctor said pleasantly. “It was a pleasure to meet you both, and I look forward to seeing you next week, Bilbo.”

And with that, Dr. Cox left the room, heels echoing once again across the linoleum floor.

“I like her,” Bilbo announced, returning to his chair with a smile.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” Thorin sighed, unable to stop himself cringing. “I bet she got enough stick when she was at school without her patients starting to –”

Thorin stopped. Bilbo was watching him with a look almost identical to the one he had received from Dr. Cox, and then he said, slowly: “Thorin, Dr. Cox is a trans woman, there wouldn’t have been any issues with her height whilst she was at school.”

Thorin’s eyes widened. _Oh_. And then he felt the heat of shame and embarrassment further darkening his cheeks. He had been staring at her with the most gormless expression every time she was standing next to him, and if Dr. Cox hadn’t noticed that, he had still put his foot in his mouth with the comment about her height.

“I’m an idiot,” Thorin mumbled into his palms.

“I’m sure Dr. Cox didn’t think anything of it,” Bilbo replied softly, reaching out to touch Thorin’s knee. “She knew you weren’t intending to be hurtful.”

“I… I didn’t realise,” Thorin continued, still hiding behind his hands. “I’ve never met a transsexual person before… It just didn’t occur to me.”

“And that’s not your fault,” Bilbo said soothingly. “But just so you know, ‘transsexual’ is a bit of an outdated term now – Dr. Cox prefers the term ‘transgender’.”

Thorin let out a groan, hunching forward. He was only embarrassing himself further and realising Bilbo was witnessing his ignorance first-hand only made the feeling of shame worse.

“Hey, Thorin, it’s alright.” In an uncanny act of mirroring, Bilbo moved to perch on the table in front of him and slowly drew his hands away from his face. “It’s a mistake a lot of people make, but now you know.”

“But… I don’t know,” Thorin whispered, only just managing to meet Bilbo’s gaze. “I don’t know about these things… I don’t know anything.”

“Thorin,” Bilbo said gently, rubbing his thumb across his forehead, under the edge of his beanie. “I’ve been an active part of the LGBT+ community since I was sixteen years old, but you’re only just starting to get to know our community… and that’s okay, it’s a learning curve.”

Thorin let out another grumble, but still he let Bilbo guide his head down onto his chest and wrap his arms around his back. “If it would make you feel better, I could give you a crash course in LGBT+ history and terminology? I bet Fili would be happy to show you some films and TV series too to help you out.”

“That sounds good,” Thorin murmured.

“Okay, so no more grumping about not knowing things,” Bilbo said, and Thorin could feel his smile as he kissed his forehead.

“But you know everything,” Thorin replied, his retort only half-hearted.

“No, I know some things… Fili and your sister know everything.”

Thorin had to chuckle at that, and then he felt Bilbo’s chest shift beneath him.

“And speak of the devil, she’s just arrived.”

Thorin turned around to find Dis signing in at the nurses’ station: her meeting had clearly finished right on time and she was here to join them for the remainder of visiting hours. Thorin turned back to Bilbo, trying not to look too stricken, but Bilbo only smiled.

“I’m not going to say anything,” he murmured, twining their fingers together, and they had one moment to sneak a quick kiss before Dis walked into the room.

 

…

 

“You’re quiet tonight, love,” Dis said, her tone without accusation, but tinged with concern, as she glanced across at Thorin sitting next to her in the passenger seat.

“I… I’ve just been thinking about some things,” Thorin replied.

He expected his sister to make a joke, urging him not to think too hard lest he hurt himself, but instead she simply kept her eyes on the road as they came to a stop at the traffic lights. This week had been one of tremendous progress, and that evening, with Bilbo making his own great leap with ‘Operation Ganesh’, Thorin figured it might be time he set another objective into motion.

“What are you doing tonight?” Thorin asked, turning to Dis.

“Oh, just moderating some controlled assessments, nothing too exciting… Why?”

Thorin inhaled slowly. “I think it’s about time we made a call to New Zealand.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Duh duh duhhhhhhh!
> 
> Fancasts for this chapter:
> 
> James – Guy Henry  
> Linda – Georgie Glen  
> Dr. Cox – Laverne Cox, rocking a London accent
> 
> As ever, I’m so grateful to all of you for taking the time to read ‘Obstacles’ and offer your wonderful feedback – we’re slowly but surely approaching this fic’s second birthday, and your continued support just means so, so much! :D


	45. Chapter 45

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember that one time I said ‘Obstacles’ was going to be a one-shot…?
> 
> Warning: The second half of this chapter features a dissociative episode. If anyone would like a trigger-free summary of this update, please do let me know.

“Do you think Bilbo suspects anything?”

Thorin had been focusing all his attentions on not slipping on the muddy trail beneath his feet as they made their way to the pitch, but at Fili’s question, he slowly turned to his niece.

“I’m not sure,” he answered honestly. “I think he might have done at first… but then I managed to pass it off as social awkwardness.”

Fili flashed him a grin. “Nice that it comes in handy every now and again, isn’t it?”

“I’m more worried about Prim being able to keep a straight face when they Skype tomorrow,” Thorin said quietly, remembering the gleeful look of absolute joy on Bilbo’s cousin’s face when they had spoken a few nights ago.

“She knows how important this is, I’m sure she’ll manage it,” Fili said, her tone quiet and reassuring.

Thorin nodded, his eyes returning to the trail that led through the perimeter of woods to an expanse of field which held the football pitch for Kili’s junior team, the Morley Harriers. The path narrowed and so uncle and niece were forced to walk single-file, with Dain pressing into Thorin’s side.

“Uncle?”

“Hmm?” Thorin was surprised by how tentative Fili sounded.

“You know if you and Mum are… a little short with the money? I have some savings… Like, not a lot, but enough to help you out… if you need it.”

Thorin came to a stop and slowly turned around to face Fili, unable to help the affectionate smile that sprang to his lips. “Your mum and I have the money,” he said gently. “We’re only giving Prim and Drogo a little top up, and it’s all sorted.” He reached out and put a hand on Fili’s shoulder. “And anyway, you need to keep hold of that money to make sure you have a great time at university.”

Fili returned a smile. “Thanks, Uncle.”

They continued on along the trail and the trees soon melted away to reveal the bright green stretch, illuminated by a sun they hadn’t expected to see that autumnal Sunday morning. This was the first time Thorin had felt up to seeing Kili play, and he knew his nephew had been beside himself at the prospect of his uncle being in the audience gathered on the sides of the pitch. Thorin had slept fitfully that night, spending his waking hours praying that all would go to plan in the morning, that he wouldn’t have an episode in front of Kili and his friends. But this wasn’t like going to a league match: there were no stands full of noisy, claustrophobic crowds, only the families of players sparsely clustered on the side-lines. He and Fili had also hatched a contingency plan, for if he felt things were going awry. He would signal to his niece, and she would lead him back into the surrounding trees to a bench she’d previously clocked, just out of sight of the pitch. They both had their phones on them so the appropriate people could be contacted. Although Thorin sincerely hoped it wouldn’t come to that, he felt much calmer, knowing they had such measures in place.

Walking across the soft, spongey grass, they saw Dis standing on the side of the pitch closest to them and she waved them over. Seeing that she was talking to another family, Thorin’s hand automatically reached up to confirm that his grey beanie was still in place and then he felt Dain give the back of his hand a lick of encouragement. He grinned down at the Labrador and murmured ‘clever boy’.

Reaching his sister, Thorin smiled, a little self-consciously, at the blonde-haired couple who were studying him with expectant, if benign, interest. The man was about the same height as Bilbo, his shoulders broad beneath his jacket, and his blue eyes were warm with laughter lines bunched at their corners. The woman, standing a couple of inches taller than her partner, wore her light hair in a French braid and her expression was soft and curious.

“Dean, Collette, this is my brother, Thorin,” Dis said, making introductions. “Thorin, these are Sam’s parents… Oh, and his sister, Elise.”

Thorin knew Sam, Kili’s best friend, was the striker for their team, so he realised, belatedly, that he should have expected to see his family here. He nodded to Dean and Collette with a quiet ‘hello’ and then his eyes dropped to Elise, who appeared to be about six or seven years old, her blonde hair falling loose well past her shoulders. She was half-hidden behind her mother, one hand tightly fisted and tugging excitedly on her coat as her wide blue eyes flitted from Dain, up to Collette’s face, and she seemed to be whispering about the Labrador, but then she caught Thorin’s eye and instantly shrank back.

Fili had recently downgraded Thorin’s ‘Homicidal Resting Face’ to ‘Angry Resting Face’, but he still knew how terrifying he might look to a six year old, and so he carefully dropped down into a crouch next to Dain, avoiding pressing his knees into the damp grass.

“You can come and stroke him, if you want,” he said, keeping his tone soft as he held Elise’s gaze. “He’s very friendly and he likes meeting new people.”

Elise’s fingers flexed around her mother’s coat as she looked up at Collette, her eyes once again bright with excitement, and Thorin was reminded of Emily, the red-headed toddler whom he still saw on the bus to the hospital.

“Go on,” Collette said, gently coaxing her daughter forward. “Say hello.”

Elise shuffled back, little fist going up to hide her shy smile as she looked over at Thorin, and she tried to hide herself in Collette’s coat again. Deciding she might need a little more encouragement, Thorin scratched behind Dain’s ears and the Labrador leaned in to his touch, showing Elise what she was missing. Feeling his heart begin a steady thumping in his chest, Thorin held out his hand towards Elise, palm open in invitation. The blonde-haired girl looked up at her parents again and then, with some hesitation, moved forward, impossibly small hand coming to rest in Thorin’s. She moved in to stand by his side as her round eyes scanned Dain from nose to tail.

“He likes it if you scratch his ears,” Thorin explained, once again scratching Dain to demonstrate.

With this prompting, Elise stretched out her hand and began to lightly stroke Dain’s ears. Sensing her nervousness, Dain remained completely still and didn’t try to lick at her hands, only panted happily at the attention.

“What’s he called?” Elise asked quietly, risking a glance at Thorin.

“His name is Dain,” Thorin replied. In the periphery of his vision he could see everyone grinning down at them, and with a flush of pride in his chest, he sensed that this encounter was going very well.

“Dain,” Elise repeated, patting Dain’s head, and then her fingers trailed down his neck to his high-vis jacket. “Why is he wearing a coat?”

Thorin’s stomach gave a brief squirm, but then he inhaled steadily through his nose. He and Faramir had spent quite some time going through possible responses to Dain he might encounter, and they had talked about questions he may get from children. He knew he could tell Elise that Dain’s coat was to keep him warm, to make him easy to find, but for some reason he felt she deserved more than a lie.

“He wears this coat because he’s a special dog,” Thorin said, stroking Dain’s head. “It’s so people know that he’s here to help me.”

“Like a guide dog?” Elise asked, her eyes moving over the words printed on Dain’s jacket, but Thorin wasn’t sure if she could read them.

“Yes, very like a guide dog,” Thorin answered.

“Oh,” was all Elise replied, and then, seeming satisfied by this answer, she continued to scratch Dain’s ears.

Thorin was surprised Elise had no further questions, but he was also a little relieved, and he felt his heartrate begin to slow again as his shoulders sagged. “Would you like to give him a treat?”

Elise’s eyes instantly grew wider. “Can I?” She looked over at her parents, who returned encouraging smiles.

Thorin fished a treat from his pocket and held it out for Elise. “Just keep your hand flat and keep it still, and he’ll lick it off,” he coached, holding his own empty hand out to demonstrate.

Elise mimicked the gesture, and then Dain swiped the treat from her palm with a quick flick of his tongue, before beginning to crunch the treat, brown eyes bright. Elise giggled and wiggled her fingers, inspecting her hand with obvious glee.

“Ah, here they are!” Dean announced suddenly, and Thorin looked up to see the two junior teams jogging onto the pitch with their respective coaches and an aging, black clad referee.

“Come over here, sweetheart,” Collette said to Elise, holding out her hand.

Elise gave Dain one last pat, smiled a less shy smile at Thorin, and then returned to her mother, pressing into her coat as Collette kissed her on the forehead and then looked across at Thorin, mouthing a warm ‘thank you’.

“I think you’ve made that group of mums over there pretty broody,” Fili mock-whispered, from his left side.

“What?” Thorin furrowed his brow, then followed his niece’s delighted gaze to the other side of the pitch where a group of young women were indeed looking over at him and murmuring to each other. He instantly felt his cheeks colour as Fili started laughing.

“Fili, enough,” Dis said quietly, rolling her eyes.

Fili fell silent, but still grinned across at her uncle.

“Uncle Thorin!”

At the sound of his nephew’s voice, Thorin’s eyes were torn away from the whispering women to the centre of the pitch where Kili’s team were doing some warm-up exercises. Kili, fully kitted out in the two-tone blue of the Morley Harrier’s strip, was waving over at him, the brightest smile he had ever seen lighting up his face. Thorin returned the smile and waved back, noting that at least half of Kili’s team were watching the exchange with interest. But he had already guessed that in his excitement, Kili would have told his teammates that he was coming to watch him for the first time, and he hardly begrudged his nephew that. He noticed Kili speaking to a boy with dark blonde hair pulled back with an Alice band, similar to the style favoured by Beckham earlier on in his career: this must be Sam. This was confirmed when Sam looked over and flashed a thumbs up at his parents, which was heartily returned.

A few minutes later, the noticeably rotund referee finished his conversation with one of the coaches and then began urging the players to get into their positions, ready for kick-off. Kili, playing central midfield, gave Sam a high-five and then moved into his half, a few feet from the centre circle.

“And Thorin, please remember that this is a friendly… and they’re twelve years old,” Dis said, eyes following her son, although her smirk was clearly for her brother.

“I know that,” Thorin replied, brow furrowed in confusion.

“You’re forgetting that I grew up with you and Frerin screaming at the TV whenever there was a match on,” Dis said, the smirk turning a little wicked. “I’m not sure how I survived England’s performance in the 1990 World Cup… Even Dad had some very colourful words to describe the referees.”

“I… I’m not going to swear,” Thorin said, although he knew he did have a tendency to get very caught up in football, and maybe it wasn’t going to help that it was his nephew playing.

“Good,” Dis replied, lips pursed. “And no pitch invasions either.”

“I do love a good pitch invasion, though,” Dean said, smiling over at Thorin. “And those dads from the Tingley Juniors look smug now, but I bet we could take them.”

Collette gave Dean a good-natured shove. “Okay, quiet now, they’re about to kick-off.”

Thorin resolved that he was going to keep quiet during the match, that there would be no shouting or frantic hand gestures or taunting the opposing team… and this was a resolve that he managed to keep for exactly four minutes.

To his credit, Kili had really been holding back when he practiced with Thorin in the park. Thorin had never seen his nephew move so fast with the ball, and there was no doubt just how skilled he was. Within the first few minutes, the Harriers had managed to keep the play very close to the Juniors’ goal. Their defenders were good, but Kili and Sam were better. They moved with a synchronicity Thorin had never seen before between a midfielder and striker and with the game getting this tense, this quickly, Thorin found himself calling out.

“Pass…! Pass! No… On your left! Good! Shoot… Shoot!”

In his defence, Dean and other relatives were also shouting out, but Thorin found that he really couldn’t keep his mouth shut as he became completely absorbed in the game, the adrenaline rush he was getting completely invigorating.

Kili and Sam were moving in towards the goal; Sam was blocked by a defender, so he passed back to Kili, who waited for Sam to be open again. Thorin knew the blonde striker was gearing himself up for a shot, and when Kili kicked the ball to him, Sam swung his foot in an elegant arc. The ball sailed through the air… and then smacked into the crossbar, bouncing back to be collected by one of the Junior defenders.

Thorin let out of a yell of frustration, hands reaching up to clasp his beanie, and then something flashed in the corner of his eye. Fili had been holding her phone up, but she quickly slipped it back into her pocket when she saw him looking. He returned a bemused look, which, due to the tension of the match, may have become a glower.

“I promised Kee I’d film some of the match so he can show Bilbo,” Fili replied innocently, but the glint in her eye told Thorin exactly what she’d been doing. He decided to let it go… for now.

The game moved back towards the centre circle, but the Harriers – led by Kili and Sam – soon pushed the play, once again, dangerously close to the Juniors’ goal. Kili took a shot himself, but it was caught by the goal-keeper’s fairly impressive leap. Within seconds, Kili had the ball again, he kicked it into the air, Sam lunged forward, and then he headed it straight into the corner of the net. The cheer that rose up was instantaneous and Thorin punched the air, shouting his congratulations. Even Dis joined in the whooping, her eyes glittering as Sam did a victory lap around the pitch, arms spread wide, with Kili following close behind him.

After fifteen more minutes of play, with the Harriers winning one-nil, the referee blew his whistle, signalling half-time. Kili made a beeline for Thorin as soon as the whistle sounded, and several of his teammates, Sam included, followed behind him. Face hot and sweaty from the exertion of playing, Kili still gave his uncle the widest grin as he came to meet him on the side-lines.

“Uncle Thorin!” he cried, hastily wiping some dark strands of hair that had been sticking to his face. “Did you see Sam’s header?”

“I did, mate,” Thorin replied, wrapping an arm around Kili as he came to hug him. “And you played really well… So no toning it down again when we play in the park, deal?”

“Deal!” Kili said, pulling away and returning to his teammates, who had formed a loose semi-circle around them.

Thorin noted that they were all staring up at him, some with their mouths slightly open, and Thorin sensed something close to awe radiating from them, although he wasn’t really sure why.

“Is it true that you’re in the army?” the shortest boy asked, looking up at Thorin with a strange reverence.

Fili’s move closer to his side was perceptible to very few, but Thorin knew she was offering a way out… but he decided now was not the time to run away. With Elise he had proven that he could handle potentially difficult questions, and he knew this would mean a lot to Kili. And so, with his heart pounding in his ears, he decided to play up his response a little.

“Of course,” he replied. “Captain Thorin Oakenshield, 2nd Batallion, Yorkshire Regiment, reporting for duty.” He saluted as an added flourish, although the gesture came so naturally he was sure he probably would have done it anyway, without forethought.

“Cool!” the boy said, looking to Kili with admiration, and this was followed by a round of ‘whoahs’ and whispered questions to Kili, who looked quite pleased with the attention.

“Boys! The second half’s about to start!” the Harriers coach called from the centre circle, and then the players were returning to their positions.

“Bye, Uncle Thorin!” Kili called happily over his shoulder, falling into step beside Sam.

“You know, you’re pretty awesome,” Fili said quietly, bumping his shoulder. “You’ve just made his whole month.”

Uncle and niece shared a smile, and then the whistle was blown as the second half began. There was disappointment early on as the Juniors dominated and got the ball past the Harriers’ goalie, but the Harriers fought back with a fierce determination Thorin couldn’t help but admire. The score stayed at one-one for a long time, but then in the final five minutes, play became unnervingly brutal as both sides fought for a winning goal.

Thorin had noticed one of the Juniors’ midfielders dogging Kili’s movements, but then when Kili swiped the ball and headed towards the goal, the midfielder leapt in to take the ball with a kick and his boot studs stabbed into the top of Kili’s calf. Kili cried out and staggered down onto his knees as blood began to bloom along his leg and Thorin’s heart dropped into his stomach. The referee gave a thunderous blow on his whistle and play stopped; two men in bright orange jackets rushed forward to help Kili get to his feet and see to his leg. Some parents further down the line were shouting: “Foul!” and then Sam was yelling at the offending midfielder, but as soon as he gave him a rough shove, their coaches intervened and pulled them apart.

Dis was watching the events with dark eyes, her face paling and fingers white as she clutched at the collar of her coat, but then Kili saw his family looking over and lifted his hand, fingers folded into a thumbs up, and Thorin let out a breath, his chest still feeling a little tight. One of the men in orange jackets was pressing a plaster across Kili’s leg and then the other man was coaching him as he took a few steps from side to side, testing walking on his injured leg. He was limping slightly, but didn’t seem too uncomfortable.

The Harriers coach was talking to the referee, who seemed to be nodding at everything he said, but Thorin wasn’t sure why it was taking them so long to come to a decision about the obvious foul.

“That’s got to be a red card,” Dean said seriously, then shouted out: “Red card him, Ref! Red card!”

Other relatives joined Dean in the call for a red card, Dis included, and then feeling it would help ease the tightness in his chest, Thorin lifted his own voice to the chorus: “Free kick! Free kick!”

As if the referee had heard them, he pulled a red card from his pocket, flashing it at the Juniors midfielder and then went and spoke to Kili, before announcing his decision for the free kick to be a penalty. All the players immediately began moving into position, several patting Kili on the back as he walked carefully over to where the ball had been placed in front of the goal, ready for his penalty.

“Come on, Kee!” Fili called out, fist raised in solidarity. “You can do it!”

Kili turned and flashed his family a grin, before doing a few quick stretches. Thorin was sure he stopped breathing altogether as the Juniors goal-keeper moved into position, all the other players tensed and ready, and then the referee blew his whistle and Kili took the shot. The ball soared in a clean arc, the goalie lunged to the right, stretched out his hands, but the ball flew past his fingertips, right into the back of the net.

In perfect synchronisation, Thorin, Fili, and Dis leapt into the air and all three started cheering and whooping, joining the joyous cries of the Harriers as they all rushed forward and piled on top of Kili. Kili emerged from the tangle of limbs moments later and his eyes searched the crowd, when they found his uncle, his face could barely contain his smile as he lifted his arms in celebration. Thorin raised his hands, clapping above his head like many others, and called out: “Well done, mate! I’m proud of you!”

Kili only grinned in response and for that moment it was just uncle and nephew, lost in their moment of absolute, perfect happiness.

 

…

 

Thorin slowly cracked open one eye and then the other, blinking a few times to ensure Bilbo’s room slowly came back into focus. He was lying on his side, facing the sink that looked fairly eerie in the dark grey light: there was a drop of water, steadily swelling to an orb, still clinging to the metal tap head and it glinted in the strip of light from the ward beyond the door. Carefully stretching out his legs and wiggling his toes against the blankets, Thorin let out a long breath. Dain was sleeping in the corner of the room, curled up in his specially-bought fleece-lined bed. He stirred a little in his sleep and Thorin stayed perfectly still in his own bed, not wanting to wake the Labrador unnecessarily.

Casting his mind back only a few moments, he realised he wasn’t sure what had woken him. It wasn’t a nightmare: from the blurred but colourful images still flashing in the sleepy corner of his mind he could tell he had been dreaming about Kili and his two-one victory in yesterday’s football match.

He thought he had felt the bed jolt, but maybe that had been his doing as he returned to the waking world. With a pang, he hoped this hadn’t disturbed Bilbo. Trying to be as quiet and discreet as possible, Thorin rolled over onto his other side, so that he was facing the younger man in the bed next to him… and froze.

Bilbo was already awake. He was lying on his back, arms by his sides, gaze fixed on the ceiling above him.

“Bilbo?” Thorin murmured, disturbed by the seemingly vacant look in his eyes. “Bilbo… what’s wrong?”

Bilbo didn’t respond, didn’t even blink, and he seemed completely unaware of Thorin’s presence. Heart climbing into his throat, Thorin reached out a trembling hand and shook Bilbo’s shoulder. Bilbo’s head moved with his shoulder, lolling a little to one side on the pillow, but still he didn’t even flinch and Thorin’s blood ran cold.

“No, no, no, no…”

Fingers fumbling at Bilbo’s neck for a pulse, Thorin was only partially relieved to find the skin warm if clammy and a heartbeat fluttering beneath his fingertips.

“Bilbo… Bilbo, please,” Thorin begged, his voice catching, and he felt the corners of his eyes begin to sting. “Bilbo…”

Bilbo still didn’t respond, his grey eyes staring lifelessly over Thorin’s shoulder, and Thorin finally regathered enough sense to grapple for the plastic call button on the bed and stab his thumb down repeatedly. Turning back to Bilbo, he found he was afraid to touch him again, lest he make whatever was happening worse, and his chest grew tighter and tighter the longer he looked at the terrifyingly empty expression on Bilbo’s face.

“Thorin? You okay?” Rosie appeared in the room, flicking on the main light.

“S-Something’s _wrong_ ,” Thorin choked out, looking helplessly down at Bilbo’s prone form.

Rosie was at the side of the bed in an instant, one hand going to Bilbo’s shoulder as Thorin’s had done. “Bilbo? Bilbo, can you hear me?” she asked, waving her other hand in front of Bilbo’s eyes, before dropping it to hover flat over his mouth. Bilbo made no reply, made no sign that he was even conscious, and Thorin’s stomach shrivelled into itself.

Her fingers closing around Bilbo’s wrist, Rosie’s other hand went to the fob watch hanging from her scrubs pocket. “Looks like a dissociative episode,” she murmured, before turning to another nurse waiting in the doorway. “Get Dr. Lorien in here now!” When confusion seemed to break out at the nurses’ station, Rosie raised her voice: “She’s in the on-call room!”

The urgency in the nurse’s tone scraped a burning line down Thorin’s chest and he felt the first hot tear slide down his cheek. His breathing had grown ragged and he couldn’t even draw enough breath to ask all the questions he desperately needed answers to.

“Do you know how long he’s been like this, Thorin?” Rosie asked, her tone low and soft as she relinquished Bilbo’s wrist.

“I… I…” Thorin struggled to form the words, his tongue feeling heavy in his mouth, and he cast another panicked glance at Bilbo’s hollow eyes.

“Okay, Thorin, listen to me,” Rosie said, her tone firm but still low and calming. “I know this all looks very scary, but Bilbo is going to be alright… I’ve seen this happen before, more than once, and Bilbo will come out the other side.”

Thorin nodded, trying to swallow. “I… I woke up…” He sucked in a deep breath. “… And turned over… and he… he was like this…”

“Okay,” Rosie said quietly, studying Bilbo again.

“Nurse Cotton?” Dr. Lorien, the ward’s only doctor senior to Dr. Grey, strode into the room and came to Rosie’s side.

“I think it’s a dissociative episode,” Rosie explained, stepping back so Dr. Lorien could take her place. “He’s unresponsive to any external stimuli, pulse pushing one-fifty.”

Dr. Lorien nodded, one hand coming to rest on the side of Bilbo’s face. She pulled her pen-torch from her blouse pocket and shone it in each of Bilbo’s eyes in quick succession: the black pupils shrank as the light hit them.

“Pupils normal and responsive to light,” Dr. Lorien announced, taking her stethoscope from around her neck and, pushing some strands of golden hair away from her face, lodged it in her ears.

Her long fingers closed around the chest-piece and she slipped it under Bilbo’s pyjama top, slowly moving it across his chest, her expression one of absolute focus. Thorin waited, breath trapped in his throat, for the doctor’s verdict as she leant over Bilbo.

“Resps look good,” she said finally, lifting the chest-piece out from under Bilbo’s top. “But let’s get some oxygen sorted out, just in case, and can I get a BP reading, please?”

Rosie nodded, immediately opening the cupboard beside the bed. Dr. Lorien moved to the footboard box which held Bilbo’s notes and studied them carefully, before speaking to the room: “I suspect the episode has been triggered by a nightmare – I’m correct in believing this has happened before?”

“The last one was a couple of months ago,” Rosie confirmed, as she carefully fitted an oxygen mask over Bilbo’s nose and mouth.

Thorin’s relief at seeing Bilbo’s breath fogging up the mask was quickly stamped out by the realisation that he had never been told about this last dissociative episode, which must have happened just after he’d been discharged for the first time. The ache began digging its claws into the inside of his chest.

Too busy watching Rosie wrap the dark blue cuff around the top of Bilbo’s arm, ready to measure his blood pressure, Thorin didn’t notice Dr. Lorien drifting around the bed to his side.

“How are you feeling, Thorin?” the doctor asked gently, her voice taking on an oddly hypnotic quality.

Thorin opened his mouth to answer, but found he couldn’t quite manage it: only a strangled breath came out instead as his eyes returned to Bilbo.

“Would you like to come and sit with Dain for a little while?” Dr. Lorien said, when he didn’t respond.

Thorin had been so focused on Bilbo, he hadn’t realised that Dain had woken up and was now sitting at the side of the bed, head tilted up, trying to see his face.

“I… I can’t leave Bilbo…” Thorin managed to reply, his throat feeling raw.

“Understood,” Dr. Lorien said, dipping her chin. “Perhaps give Dain a quick stroke, to reassure him?”

Thorin knew the doctor’s suggestion was meant to reassure him, not Dain, but he didn’t have the strength to argue with her. Seeing Dr. Lorien return to join Rosie at Bilbo’s side, he slowly swung his legs over the bed and let Dain move in between his knees. He scratched behind the Labrador’s ears as he licked his hands, and he felt the tears welling up in his eyes again.

“I’m okay,” he whispered to Dain. “I’m okay… You lie down… Lie down… Good boy.”

With Dain settled on the floor by the bed, Thorin turned back, chest tightening as he was once again confronted by the horribly vacant look in Bilbo’s eyes.

“He’s going to be alright, Thorin,” Dr. Lorien said, repeating Rosie’s words and offering him a strange smile which suggested she really did know the future. “I understand dissociative episodes can be disturbing, but Rosie tells me Bilbo’s are infrequent and brief… All we have to do is wait this one out.”

Thorin’s eyes moved from Dr. Lorien, back to Bilbo, and the feelings of powerlessness swamped him all at once. It was agony, seeing Bilbo trapped inside himself, but unable to help. He was desperate to pull him close to his chest and hold him until he came back, but he knew that was an impossibility. Still, his hand twitched towards Bilbo just the same, and he quickly withdrew it.

“You can hold his hand, if you like,” Dr. Lorien said softly, clearly not missing the movement of Thorin’s fingers. “It won’t cause any distress; in fact, it’s far more likely to help him. Talking to him could also be potentially soothing.”

Thorin stared at the doctor, his reluctance fairly obvious, and so Rosie took over: “Like you did before, Thorin, when the water on the floor caused Bilbo to dissociate, and you talked to him until he came round.”

With a jolt, Thorin remembered Bilbo, curled up into a ball on this very bed, his fingers fisted in his hair, and he had brought him back. A ‘lighthouse’, Bilbo had called him, his voice flashing in the dark, guiding him back home. It was a little scarier this time round, with Bilbo’s grey eyes open and dulled with the dissociation… but still, Thorin knew now what to do.

Reaching out, he slowly took Bilbo’s hand in his, and lifted it from the bed. Bilbo’s fingers were slack as he twined them with his, but still his lips brushed a soft kiss against his palm, closing his eyes against the brewing barrage of tears. He held Bilbo’s hand against his face for a few long moments, pressing his fingers against his bearded cheek, and unexpectedly smiled to himself as he thought about the way a very dopey Bilbo had once told him of his high regard for his facial hair.

Opening his eyes, Thorin shifted on the bed and lifted his other hand to Bilbo’s hair, thumb stroking his forehead. He kept his touch light, still nervous about making the episode worse, but wanting to let Bilbo know he wasn’t alone. Dr. Lorien and Rosie had stepped back from the bed, obviously wanting to give them both some more space, and they continued their discussion by the window, voices lowered as not to disturb.

“I’m here,” Thorin said, cringing at how broken his own voice sounded. “I’m here, Bilbo,” he tried again, the words sounding clearer and with more conviction as he brushed a few curls away from Bilbo’s forehead. “I’m not going anywhere… You’re safe… I love you, I love you…” His voice caught again as his lips ghosted over Bilbo’s fingers.

Eyes moving to Bilbo’s chest, he watched its steady rise and fall, trying to get his own breathing to match it, and thought back to the last time he had guided Bilbo back, his hands pressed over Bilbo’s as he told him the story of their time spent together in the hospital: his version of everything they had shared. That day he had spoken to Bilbo of the past, and so he figured, in the spirit of ‘Operation Ganesh’, his and Bilbo’s unofficial god of progress, he should talk to him about the future.

“Remember the European road trip we planned?” Thorin whispered, managing a smile for Bilbo. “I just wanted you to know it’s still happening… When you’re feeling better, and all… all of this over… We’re going to get in a car, you and me and Dain, and drive up to Scotland… and you’re going to be there to help me carry Dwalin home after a night in The Crossed Axes… Or maybe me and Dwalin are going to be carrying you home, if your Birmingham days are anything to go by…”

Bilbo’s face remained expressionless, his eyes empty, despite Thorin’s smile, but still Thorin kept going, knowing there was no way he was ending his tale until Bilbo was grinning and chuckling in his arms.

“And then we’re going to get the ferry over to France… and I promise you can take me round as many museums as you want, and I won’t complain… You can even quiz me after each one to check I was listening… We’ll go back to the boat with the sign-post pointing the wrong way to Calais and take a picture and… and then we’re going to go to Germany, to Berlin, so you can try and improve your dreadful accent… Okay, maybe it’s not that dreadful…”

He gently squeezed Bilbo’s hand, as if asking forgiveness for the slight, but there was no answering movement of fingers. Thorin continued anyway.

“I’ll take you to all the coffee shops I used to sit and brood in… and then we can go to the apartment where I used to live, before I even knew you existed…”

Thorin felt his voice catch again and his vision grew blurry as he wrapped his fingers back around Bilbo’s hand. “Bilbo…” he whispered, and then, before he knew what was happening, he found himself burbling away in German. “ _Ich liebe dich mit Haut und Haaren…_ ” He leaned forward, curling over and carefully pressing his forehead against Bilbo’s. “ _Du bist mein Ein und Alles… Komm zu mir zurück…_ ”

Bilbo’s fingers twitched against Thorin’s palm.

Heart skipping a beat, Thorin slowly straightened up just in time to see Bilbo’s eyes roll back into his head.

“Bilbo…?” Thorin breathed, gently squeezing Bilbo’s hand. “Bilbo, can you hear me, love?”

There was no answering squeeze and Bilbo’s eyes remained closed as he let out a long breath into his oxygen mask. Dr. Lorien and Rosie reappeared at the side of the bed.

“BP and heartrate look good,” the doctor said, checking the readings from the oximeter and blood pressure cuff. She placed a hand on Bilbo’s shoulder. “Bilbo? Can you squeeze Thorin’s hand for me?”

Thorin waited, heart almost stilling inside his chest, but Bilbo didn’t respond. He looked across at Dr. Lorien, panic flashing in his eyes.

“It’s completely normal for Bilbo to have simply gone back to sleep,” Dr. Lorien said, voice calm and reassuring. “He’ll wake up in a couple of –”

“He just squeezed my hand!” Thorin gasped, feeling Bilbo’s fingers flexing around his, and he was unable to stop the tears that crowded into the corners of his eyes.

“Okay, looks like he’s starting to come round,” Dr. Lorien said, smiling. “Keep talking to him, Thorin, it’ll help.”

Thorin nodded, running his thumb over Bilbo’s forehead. “It’s alright, love, I’m here… You’re okay… we’re going to be okay…”

A low groan sounded from Bilbo, followed by some mumbled words that were lost behind the oxygen mask, and then grey eyes slowly peeked open, blinking up at Thorin.

“Hello,” Thorin whispered, aware that he had started crying again, but refusing to move his hands from Bilbo to wipe the tears away.

Bilbo’s brow furrowed as he stared at him, then his eyes slowly moved to Dr. Lorien and Rosie. He spoke again, but the quiet words were hushed even further by the mask. Rosie moved forward and carefully pulled the mask down, away from his face.

“Welcome back, Bilbo,” Dr. Lorien said calmly.

Bilbo’s gaze returned to Thorin. “What happened?” he asked, voice scratchy and weak, as he searched Thorin’s face for answers.

“You had a dissociative episode,” Dr. Lorien explained. “We think it was triggered when you woke up from a nightmare, but it didn’t last very long, and we’ve managed to get your blood pressure and heartrate back down.”

Bilbo closed his eyes for a moment, leaning into Thorin’s hand that was resting against his forehead. When his eyes opened again, they began studying Thorin with concern.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his hoarse voice sounding pained.

Thorin huffed, knowing it was typical of Bilbo to worry about him at a time like this. “I’m fine,” he assured him, kissing his hand.

“You’re crying,” Bilbo pressed, fingers moving – still interlocked with Thorin’s – to his cheek, where the water wet his skin, as if daring Thorin to deny it.

“I was just worried about you,” Thorin said softly. “You… you gave us a bit of a scare.”

Thorin figured this was a better way of phrasing: ‘You scared me shitless, you absolute bastard’, but Bilbo seemed to understand the subtext regardless.

“How are you feeling, Bilbo?” Dr. Lorien asked, stopping any impending argument in its tracks. “Any dizziness, nausea, or pain?”

“My head’s a little sore,” Bilbo admitted, wincing as he moved against his pillows.

“One to ten?” came Dr. Lorien’s prompt.

“‘Bout a four, pushing five.”

“Okay, we’ll get you something sorted for that,” the doctor replied. “Any shortness of breath?”

Bilbo shook his head, and with a wordless cue from Dr. Lorien, Rosie moved forward and carefully removed the oxygen mask from around his neck.

“I’d like to leave the cuff and oximeter on for the time being, if that’s alright, Bilbo? Just so we can monitor you through the rest of the night?”

“‘S fine,” Bilbo said, sounding sleepy. He rolled over into Thorin’s chest, trying to get himself comfortable.

“Just stay with us until we can get you something for that headache.” Dr. Lorien’s smile was fond as she left the room.

Rosie tucked Bilbo’s blankets in around him, and her eyes flitted to Thorin.

“I never knew you spoke German,” the nurse said, sounding impressed.

Thorin blinked, having completely forgotten Rosie had been present for that one-sided exchange. He also wondered if she had understood how soppy he actually sounded.

“Was he insulting my accent?” Bilbo asked, from where he had his face pressed against Thorin’s pyjama top.

Thorin furrowed his brow, looking down at Bilbo. “Did you hear me say that?”

“Nope, but you are in so much trouble in the morning,” Bilbo said, with a drowsy laugh, and even Rosie was smirking.

Dr. Lorien returned not long after with Bilbo’s pain relief. After a few more questions and cursory checks of Bilbo’s blood pressure and heartrate, he and Thorin were left in peace. Bilbo snuggled into Thorin’s chest, mumbling something about a ‘personal hot water bottle’ as his fingers curled around Thorin’s pyjama top, and soon the younger man had dropped back to sleep, hopefully to quieter and safer dreams.

Thorin lay awake for a long time, eyes trained on Bilbo’s face, watching his lids flicker as he slept. He knew he was waiting for the moment they’d open into that vacant stare again, but that moment never came, and Thorin finally slipped back into his own dreams just as the sun slid up over the hills and turned the window panes of Bilbo’s room to gold.

 

…

 

Thorin’s eyes snapped open as the sound of voices dragged him back into the waking world. He was lying on his side, alone in Bilbo’s bed, and Bilbo himself was sitting in a chair by the window, Dr. Grey leaning back in the one opposite him.

“Ah, good morning, Thorin,” the doctor said pleasantly.

Returning a half-hearted, grumbled greeting, Thorin propped himself up onto his elbow and rubbed at his beard. It was strange to realise he was no longer bothered when waking up to find the grey-haired doctor was already in the room, studying him with alert blue eyes. It had happened regularly enough now that he was simply used to it.

But something different had happened last night.

The memories slowly pieced themselves together before Thorin’s eyes and he flinched as Bilbo’s lifeless, empty gaze flashed at the forefront of his mind. He looked over at Bilbo and noted, with a tightening in his chest, that although he had dressed in chinos and a t-shirt, he was still wearing his Birmingham hoodie. He reassured himself that this source of comfort was to be expected after an episode.

“Is… is your head better this morning?” Thorin asked, coughing to try and shake the sleep from his voice.

Bilbo gave him a small smile. “Much better, thank you.” He glanced across at Dr. Grey before slowly rising to his feet and coming to sit on the edge of the bed, next to Thorin. “Gandalf and I have been talking and… well, I’ve made a decision.”

Thorin tensed, his stomach beginning to squirm, and Bilbo’s hand moved over his.

“I’m going to need a day or so to prepare myself, and I think you might need some time too, but then… I want to tell you: about my MIA, about what happened to me, what they did… I want to tell you everything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, another moment I’ve been working towards for almost two years is nearly here. 
> 
> I just wanted to give a word of warning now that the next chapter is going to be very heavy, and may be difficult for some of you to read, but I’ll make sure I tag all the appropriate things and trigger-free summaries will be available.
> 
> It’s going to be difficult, for both Bilbo and Thorin, but it’s one of the final obstacles that needs to be removed before Bilbo can really start making the concrete progress that will see him leaving Ered Luin for good! 
> 
> Many thanks to the wonderful Shiyaki for helping with the German for this chapter. Please see some translations below:
> 
> "Ich liebe dich mit Haut und Haaren" (I love you completely) 
> 
> "Du bist mein Ein und Alles" (You're my everything)
> 
> "Komm zu mir zurück" (Come back to me)


	46. Chapter 46

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Secrets, silent, stony sit in the dark palaces of both our hearts: secrets weary of their tyranny: tyrants, willing to be dethroned.” – James Joyce 
> 
> Warning: This chapter features graphic descriptions of violence and torture, including execution by shooting, purposefully-inflicted lacerations, cigarette burns, electrocution and emotional/psychological manipulation. It also includes discussions of suicide attempts and suicide ideation. 
> 
> Please, please do take care when reading this update, and please let me know in a comment if you would rather read a trigger-free summary.

Taking slow, deliberate steps, Thorin edged down the narrow passageway, hearing water splashing against his boots. One glance down, however, confirmed that the stony floor was dry and grey… Odd. Thorin was toeing at some of the colourless, dusty flakes when there was a rattling to his right. Pressing himself back into the wall, he clutched the gun to his chest with both hands and his fingers itched for the trigger. He waited, but nothing else moved in the passage. Keeping his eyes narrowed, he fought to quiet his breathing, lest his heavy pants give him away. It was lucky the enemy couldn’t hear the booming of his heart in his ears.

Sweat was prickling on his brow, sliding in a sticky trickle down his neck. The stone should have made the air cooler, but heat still wrapped itself around Thorin, clinging to his skin, making the whole passageway seem full of fire, as if he really were descending into the bowels of Hell. Maybe he was.

After another minute of silence, he began moving again, creeping towards the first opening in the wall. The ceiling was low, and Thorin’s Mk 7 almost scraped it, forcing him to hunch slightly as he slunk down the passage. Reaching the crude stone doorway, he inhaled sharply and then flung himself around the corner, gun pointing straight into the cell.

Empty.

Stomach twisting in on itself, Thorin’s gaze darted into every corner. The small room was completely deserted: no furniture, no weapons, no restraints… no Bilbo.

Forcing himself to breathe, Thorin retreated back into the passageway, pressing into the wall as he continued onto the next cell. He gritted his teeth to stop himself from calling out to the younger man, knowing silence was essential for their escape. He came to the second doorway and, heart lodged firmly in his throat, threw himself, gun first, through the doorway.

Bilbo was chained to the wall opposite him.

Choking down his cry, Thorin rushed forward and dropped to his knees. He resisted the urge to chuck his gun to one side and instead placed it carefully onto the cold stone by his knee, making sure it didn’t make a clatter as he did so. Grappling at the strap under his chin, Thorin pulled off his helmet and his hands reached out to cup Bilbo’s face, lifting it gently so he could see him properly.

“Bilbo,” he whispered, fighting down another cry.

The younger soldier’s face was bruised and almost black with dried blood. His bottom lip was split and swollen, with dark, bloodied flakes crusted around his nostrils. He was naked to the waist, which meant the horrific criss-cross patterns which cut across his torso, spotted with angry red cigarette burns, filled Thorin’s vision and made his stomach heave.

“Bilbo,” Thorin said again, pushing past the tremble in his voice. “Bilbo, love, open your eyes for me.”

An age seemed to pass, but finally, finally, Bilbo did just that and grey eyes struggled open, studying Thorin without recognition, their stare empty and hollow.

“They never… let me die,” he murmured, voice hoarse.

The words had almost been obscured by his thickened lip, but still Thorin heard them, and they made his blood run cold.

“You’re… you’re not going to die,” he replied, thumb stroking over Bilbo’s blackened cheek. “I’m here… I’m going to save you.”

Bilbo didn’t respond and his eyes flickered shut, no doubt from pure exhaustion.

“I just need to get you out of these restraints and then we’ll get out of this hellhole,” Thorin said, unsure if Bilbo was still listening.

There were manacles made of dark, rusted metal around each of Bilbo’s wrists, shackling him to the wall, like something out of a medieval torture chamber. They weren’t something to be snapped by brute force and Thorin had no cutters that would be able to pry through the metal.

“Bilbo…? Bilbo?” Thorin held the young soldier’s face in his hands again. “Do you know where they keep the keys for your manacles?”

Bilbo’s eyes opened to slits, but still Thorin saw his grey gaze move slowly to his left. Following the direction, he froze when he saw a tiny silver key glinting in the low light, enticing, full of promise, like a gift.

“Okay,” Thorin breathed. “Okay… Let’s get you out of here.”

The key was cold between his fingers as he collected it from the floor, and then, as quickly and efficiently as possible, Thorin twisted it into the dark metal of Bilbo’s right manacle. The cuff made a satisfying clunk as it fell away. Thorin rocked onto his heels, preparing to reach for the second manacle… and then suddenly Bilbo lunged forward, knocking him back.

“Bilbo! NO!”

Before Thorin could move to stop him, Bilbo had grabbed his gun from the floor and shoved the black barrel into his mouth, his finger closing around the trigger and…

Thorin lurched bolt upright in his bed, chest heaving, and the gunshot sounded in his ears.

Letting out a whimper, he hunched forward, head coming to rest in his hands, sweat slicking his palms as his fingers moved to clutch at his hair.

_It was a dream, it was a dream, itwasadreamitwasadreamitwasadream…_

Dain manoeuvred himself under Thorin’s arms and clambered into his partner’s lap, licking gentle reassurances into the undersides of his arms, nudging his chin. Thorin slowly lowered his hands and pulled Dain into his chest, pushing his face into the thick fur at his neck. The Labrador moved with him, unperturbed by the force behind the movements.

_Come on, breathe, you know how to breathe, or has this whole thing taught you nothing?_

Thorin inhaled a shuddering breath, exhaling slowly, banishing the traitorous voice in a gust of air, like a dry leaf on the wind.

_I can breathe, I’m doing it right now, I’m breathing, I’m okay…_

Slowly loosening his hold on Dain, Thorin lifted his head and scanned the room. It was still dark outside, the light from the streetlamps creating a soft yellow halo around his blind. There was also a vertical slit of light running down his bedroom door, coming from the landing outside. Gaze moving to his bedside table, the time – 3:06 am – glowed blood-red from his digital clock radio.

Feeling the sweat prickling on the back of his neck, Thorin glanced down and saw a thick collar of dark green on his pale pyjama top. There were also tell-tale patches spreading out from under his armpits. Letting out another long breathe, he urged Dain back and slowly pulled the t-shirt up and over his head, dropping it at the side of the bed. Dain settled down in his lap instead, soft fur brushing against Thorin’s bare stomach.

_They never… let me die…_

The words cut across Thorin’s consciousness like a blade of lightning, and he screwed up his eyes, pushing back against the barrage of horrific images that crashed out from the corners of his mind. He supposed he had expected something like this to happen. In six hours, he would be back at Ered Luin, and Bilbo would be telling him the truth about his MIA: a truth which Thorin knew barely anything about, had only been able to prepare himself for using a few whispered words gleaned whilst Bilbo drifted in and out of sleep. The very thought made Thorin’s stomach squirm and he swallowed to try and keep the sickly feelings at bay. There were, of course, many reasons why Bilbo so often died in his dreams.

Rubbing a hand across his beard, Thorin twisted round and collected his phone from the shelf above his bed. It was a habit he had developed when waking up in the middle of the night and, ever since Bilbo’s broken wrist, he had always been filled with a horrible dread whenever his eyes moved to the screen. But this time, as ever, he was greeted by a blank screen: no messages, no missed calls. Lowering the phone into his lap, Thorin forced himself to take more slow breaths. Everything was fine. He knew everything was fine, but still there was something niggling at the back of his mind… He thought of the last time he had woken, gasping for breath in this room, unable to remember his dreams, but still certain something was wrong. He hadn’t called Ered Luin then, to warn them, to stop Bilbo and…

Straightening his back, Thorin thought about his options. If he put the phone back on its shelf, he would simply lie awake for the next four hours, slowly working himself up into a panic, but if he rang the ward, they would probably fuss over him and he might end up stuck on the phone with a doctor or nurse he didn’t know. His gaze moved back to his door. No sounds came from the landing or beyond, so he hadn’t woken anyone with his nightmare… which was, admittedly, unusual. Fili was a very light sleeper, although he had a feeling this hadn’t been the case before he moved in.

The thought of waking Fili danced temptingly across the forefront of his mind, but he resolutely pushed it away. Fili had school in the morning and as she was already preparing for her January exams, she didn’t need to be tired and worrying about him. His niece knew about Bilbo’s decision, but he had staunchly refused all her suggestions that she take the day off school and accompany him to the hospital. It was the first time he and Fili had come close to arguing since she had pulled Bilbo’s red journal from her rucksack, but eventually, his niece had relented. Thorin had made all sorts of cases about the importance of schoolwork, but really, he knew much of his reasoning had come from a desire to protect Fili and keep her away from the no doubt horrific things that Bilbo was going to reveal. She had already been through enough this year. It was with a pang that Thorin realised these were probably the very reasons also stopping him from going and waking Dis.

His fingers curling around the phone, Thorin decided he would go for the lesser of two evils. Thumb trembling a little as it moved across the buttons, he dialled the ward’s direct line.

A voice answered after five rings. “Ward Seventeen, Nurse Hayward speaking.”

“Poppy,” Thorin breathed, more than a little relieved at hearing a voice he recognised. “It’s… It’s Thorin… Oakenshield.” He cringed: like the nurse needed clarification for which Thorin would be ringing at three o’ clock in the morning.

“Oh, hello, Thorin,” Poppy replied, and Thorin could practically hear her frown. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, er, yes… I’m…” Thorin let out a slow breath. “I was just ringing to… to check on Bilbo… Is he, er, okay?”

_Smooth, Thorin, real smooth, you don’t sound unhinged at all._

“He’s fine, Thorin,” Poppy answered, her voice soft and warm. “He’s sleeping at the moment… He dropped off about an hour ago.”

“Right… okay, good.” Thorin closed his eyes, letting the relief slowly prod at the knot in his stomach, urging it to untangle itself. “So there… there haven’t been any problems tonight?”

“He got a little agitated around midnight, but I sat with him and went through photos of my sister’s wedding… just so he could see the ugly bridesmaid’s dress I’ve been complaining about: he agreed that it is hideous but that I made it look ‘deceptively stunning’.”

Thorin could feel Poppy smiling, and he couldn’t deny that it was helping him relax the muscles in his shoulders. He also appreciated the fact that the nurse had been honest with him, as well as reassuring.

“Okay… thanks for…” Thorin swallowed, trying to hide the waver in his voice. “For telling me.”

“No problem,” Poppy replied, before her tone grew more serious. “Dr. Grey is on call, if you’d like to speak to him?”

He clearly wasn’t fooling Poppy, not that he’d ever expected to, but he really didn’t want to talk about his nightmare or what the morning would bring.

“No… no, thanks, I’m… I’ll be alright,” Thorin said, knowing he was probably failing at putting a little conviction into his voice. “So… how’s, er, how’s your shift going?” It was a lame question, but he just hoped Poppy would take pity on him and understand that he didn’t want to be left alone to the early morning hours just yet.

“Oh, I can’t complain, though this is the first night shift of four, so maybe don’t ask me that question at the end of the week.”

Thorin smiled. “I’ll try to remember.”

“So, I was yawning a lot earlier – all very undignified, I know – but then…” The nurse lowered her voice to a conspiratorial level. “Dr. March bought me a coffee: just came and put it down on the desk in front of me, stood there awkwardly for a minute, and then walked off.”

“Really?” Thorin asked, suppressing a laugh, able to picture the scene all too well.

“You know, he complimented Radagast’s shoes yesterday… It’s like he’s learning how to be nice to people from a manual or something.”

“Maybe Dr. Grey gave him one?” Thorin suggested. He knew he should be above ward gossip, but he couldn’t deny how wonderfully distracting it all was… something, he suspected, Poppy knew all too well. There was a moment of easy silence and then, feeling emboldened by this successful small talk, Thorin asked: “So how was your sister’s wedding, despite the dress?”

The conversation flowed easily for another seven or eight minutes, with Poppy having to pause at one point, presumably to reassure someone that she was actually on the line with a patient, and then Thorin expressed that he should probably be getting back to bed.

“Okay, Thorin,” Poppy said quietly. “I’m… very glad you rang us.”

Thorin nodded to his empty room. “So am I.”

There was a pause before Poppy spoke again: “Would you like me to tell Bilbo you called?”

Thorin’s stomach momentarily tightened. “Oh… I… I’d rather you didn’t, if that’s okay? I don’t really want to worry him. He’s got… well, he’s got enough to think about at the moment.” He resolved to tell Bilbo the truth after the day was done, but for the moment he was certain he didn’t want his boyfriend waking up only to be told that Thorin had rung the ward in the middle of the night, half-frantic and only semi-coherent.

“Of course,” Poppy said warmly. “Now you get yourself back to bed, but don’t hesitate to ring again if you need us.”

“Thank you, Poppy… Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Thorin.”

 

…

 

“Oh, he’s not in his room, Thorin,” Radagast said, coming around the nurses’ station to stop Thorin as he made his way towards Bilbo’s door.

Thorin flexed his fingers around Dain’s lead as he turned to the nurse, heart giving a few painful thumps against his ribs. “…Where is he?”

Radagast took a moment to answer: “He’s outside with Rosie.”

“ _Outside_?” Thorin’s eyes widened, heart thumping again.

“Yes… I suspect he’s giving himself a little, er, _pep-talk_ ,” Radagast replied, his tone gentle if infuriating. “I’ll take you.”

Thoroughly confused and feeling his stomach begin retying all the knots from the night before, Thorin followed Radagast down the corridor perpendicular to the one which led to the dayroom. Much to his surprise, he had actually managed to get back to sleep after ringing the ward in the early hours of the morning; his dreams had been brighter, and for some reason filled with images of grass and crepe paper and folded napkins. However, he had still woken to feelings of absolute exhaustion. His nerves were tingling, making him twitchy and on edge, and the pain in his chest was back, its claws digging into his ribcage whenever he moved.

Radagast led him down the corridor, away from the ward, until they reached a single door which held a slender silver panel by its handle. The nurse buzzed them through and Thorin stepped onto a fairly grim-looking gravel terrace which looked out onto the hospital’s carpark.

“Morning all!” Radagast turned the corner of the building and waved Thorin over.

Hidden in a small alcove behind one flaking plaster-covered wall were Bilbo and Rosie. And they were smoking… well, Bilbo was. Ah. This was what Radagast had meant by ‘pep-talk’. In an unusual show of tact, the old nurse slipped away, leaving Thorin to join Bilbo and Rosie in their hideaway.

“Hello,” Bilbo murmured, tapping the ash from his cigarette with one finger and using his free hand to pull Thorin into a hug, arm wrapping around his back as Thorin kissed his cheek. “Sorry I’m all smoky.”

“That’s alright,” Thorin said quietly, pulling away so he could study Bilbo properly. The younger man was noticeably pale, the shadows beneath his eyes starker than they had been for a while, and he was wearing his Birmingham hoodie, although he had opted to get dressed today and was sporting a pair of sweatpants instead of his tartan pyjama bottoms.

“This… er, was one of my conditions, for today,” Bilbo added, lifting up his almost-extinguished cigarette.

Thorin found he couldn’t begrudge Bilbo this comfort, especially when he himself was brimming with anxiety at their impending conversation and it wasn’t his story that was going to be told.

“And I’m just here to _tsk_ and offer NHS-approved advice on quitting smoking,” Rosie added, giving Thorin a wry smile.

Returning the smile, Thorin slipped his arm around Bilbo’s waist, leaning in to rest his chin on Bilbo’s hair. He hadn’t quite managed to banish all the images of his nightmare, but being close to Bilbo, feeling his warmth, his shoulders moving as he breathed was comforting.

“You okay?” Bilbo asked quietly, tilting his head up so he could see Thorin’s face.

Thorin squeezed his shoulder. “I’m fine.”

It was clear no one on the little rooftop terrace believed him – including Dain who pressed himself back against his legs – but no one commented.

“Want one?” Bilbo asked, flipping open his packet of Lambert & Butler and offering it to Thorin.

“Oh, er… I’m alright, thanks,” Thorin answered, hoping Bilbo wouldn’t be offended. He wasn’t sure smoking was a good marriage with the precarious state of his breathing that morning. Not wanting Bilbo to feel shut down, he added: “Who did you steal those from then?”

“Haldir gave them willingly actually,” Bilbo replied, taking a slow drag. “No idea what’s gotten into him.”

Thorin had to close his mouth to stop himself from offering Poppy’s opinion on the matter. The three of them were silent for the next few moments, gazes all looking out across the carpark as an ambulance pulled up in front of the main entrance. It was a grey day, the overcast sky the colour of faded paper, clouds indistinguishable from each other, just a flat, off-white sheet… and Thorin tried not to think about Bilbo’s vacant gaze as he held his face in his hands.

“Okay, boys, it’s time for us to head off,” Rosie announced eventually, hand going to her fob watch. “Dr. Grey will be waiting.”

The nurse had attempted a breezy tone, but Thorin saw the darker thoughts lurking behind her gaze. She knew this was going to be a difficult day, for everyone.

“Right…”

Bilbo stubbed his cigarette out on the wall behind him, dropping it into an ashtray someone had set out in the corner. Thorin suspected he had been right in thinking the alcove must be a familiar haunt of junior doctors. He didn’t miss the shadow that crossed the younger man’s face as he stared down as the last plumes of smoke curled into the air by his feet and then disappeared entirely. He reached out and took his hand.

Rosie led the way back onto the ward and Thorin and Bilbo followed behind with Dain. They walked past the nurses’ station and turned onto the corridor which would bring them to Dr. Grey’s office. It had been decided that this wasn’t a conversation that should be conducted in Bilbo’s room with a busy ward just outside the door. Instead, the doctor had suggested his office so that they could talk in a more private space… although Thorin had been made aware that the door would have to remain ajar and Dr. Grey would be sitting in the next room – Dr. Lorien’s office – with the small door which connected the offices left open. The doctor had offered to mediate the discussion, but Bilbo had immediately refused, and so this was the closest to privacy they were going to get. Thorin had been frustrated at first, before it dawned on him just how necessary these precautions were. The day was not going to be easy for Bilbo and there was little telling how he would react once he started reliving the events of his MIA.

Bilbo’s hand was warm in Thorin’s as he gave his fingers a little squeeze, pulling him back to the present, but it still did nothing to dispel the black feeling crawling up from his stomach as they fed into the pain growing in his chest. Walking down the corridor now, they were currently in the time of ‘Before’. Bilbo’s story was another moment in Thorin’s life from which there would be no returning… and he just wanted the whole conversation to be over and done with. He knew he just had to keep telling himself that, as painful as it was going to be to hear, this was such a huge step for Bilbo, and one he had decided to take on his own. He knew it was going to be worth it in the end.

Arriving at Dr. Grey’s office, Rosie pushed open the door, but didn’t step into the room.

“I’ll see you both later,” she said, her tone betraying nothing, although she did put a hand on Bilbo’s shoulder and smile at Thorin as she turned away and headed back to the ward.

“Ah, good morning, Bilbo, Thorin, please come in,” the doctor said, welcoming them inside.

It occurred to Thorin then that as much time as he and Bilbo had spent in Dr. Grey’s office, they had never actually been in the room at the same time. It took Thorin a moment to clock the subtle differences: the low coffee table was gone, although the large leather armchairs remained in the same place, facing each other by the window. Dr. Grey’s desk had been cleared of everything: his papers, his stationery, his desk tidy and laptop. A small, plastic jug of water and two cups sat on the window sill along with – Thorin’s stomach squirmed – a rectangular wad of tissues and a disposable sick bowl.

“If you’ll both take a seat for me?” the doctor prompted, gesturing to the armchairs.

Thorin and Bilbo instinctively moved towards the armchair furthest from the door, the one patients usually sat in for their sessions, and then stopped, Bilbo flashing Thorin a small smile. “Why don’t you be Gandalf for today?” he suggested.

Taking this cue, Thorin nodded and carefully settled himself down in the armchair closest to the desk: the one occupied by Dr. Grey during their sessions. Dain slumped down onto the carpet by his feet and Thorin busied himself with packing away his lead as Bilbo slipped into the chair opposite him.

“Now that you’re both comfortable,” Dr. Grey began, coming to stand beside them. “I want you to know that this office is yours for as long as you need it. We shan’t be interrupted. However, if either of you feel you want a break, some fresh air, you need only let me know.” The doctor’s gaze grew a little sterner. “And please ensure you both do take breaks if you feel you are becoming overwhelmed. This is not something to be rushed. I will be sitting next door, and you must call for me if anything goes awry. This is not an easy step, but it is, I feel, a necessary one, and Bilbo…” The doctor turned to Bilbo, a strange warmth in his blue eyes. “I haven’t had the chance to express yet, just how proud of you I am for making this decision.”

Bilbo nodded, his expression inscrutable. “Thank you, Gandalf.”

Thorin mumbled something he was certain was actually inaudible, but still conveyed the same message, and then the doctor moved backwards out of the room, disappearing through the door which connected the office to Dr. Lorien’s. After staring at the doorway for a few long moments, Thorin slowly turned back to face Bilbo, who was watching him with careful eyes that were missing their usual hint of green that morning. His hands had moved into his lap and he was twisting his fingers into his hoodie sleeves.

“Bilbo,” Thorin said softly.

“Just… just give me a moment,” Bilbo whispered, his gaze moving to his hands as he hunched his shoulders.

Thorin tried not to stare at Bilbo’s trembling fingers. “Okay.”

They sat in silence for a long time, Thorin becoming increasingly aware of the distant tick of a wall clock which was beating a little slower than the heavy thud of his heart. Bilbo still wouldn’t look at him, and Thorin could hear the tell-tale, controlled breathing of someone who had spent years relearning the basics of living.

When it seemed Bilbo wasn’t going to be talking any time soon, and Thorin had started panicking he was going to go back on his decision, he decided he better offer what reassurance he could. “Bilbo, it’s okay, if you’re nervous… scared about today,” he said, trying to keep his tone even as he shuffled a little further forward in the armchair, resisting the urge to reach for one of Bilbo’s hands. “I know it’s not going to be easy for you, that this might trigger all sorts of things and –”

“I’m not scared about being triggered.”

Bilbo had lifted his head and was looking at Thorin with shining, grey eyes.

“Okay,” Thorin said carefully.

“I’m not scared about having an episode or dissociating,” Bilbo continued, his eyes only seeming to grow rounder as his voice caught. “I… I like the way you look at me, I always have done… and I’m only scared you’ll never look at me like that again once this is over.”

Bilbo’s words tore a gaping hole in Thorin’s chest and the pounding of his heart seemed only to hasten the imaginary bleeding within his ribs. “Bilbo…” he breathed. “Whatever you tell me today, it’s not going to change the fact that I love –”

“Please don’t.” There was an iciness in Bilbo’s voice that made Thorin stop. “I… I’m sorry… I just can’t hear that right now…” The ice melted, leaving Bilbo simply looking pale and tired. “Not if I’m going to tell you… Please…”

“Okay, I won’t say it, I promise,” Thorin said, trying to hide the hurt the words had inflicted. “I promise.”

Bilbo nodded, retreating into himself as he turned to look out of the window. This wasn’t going how Thorin had imagined, but then he supposed there was no easy way to start talking about something like this. He reached down and stroked Dain’s forehead, leaving Bilbo to his thoughts. The Labrador licked at his fingers, but Thorin could find no comfort in it… not when the silence was spreading through the office like poisonous gas, not when this horrible period of waiting seemed to be going on forever and it was making his insides ache.

“It happened in the spring of 2011.”

Thorin immediately straightened up. Bilbo was leaning against the side of his armchair and he had pulled his feet up, tucking them under him. His hands had stilled in his lap.

“Okay,” Thorin murmured, sincerely beginning to hate this small, insufficient word.

Bilbo was watching him with caution in his expression. “My unit were on their third tour of duty in Iraq.”

So that was where Bilbo had been based. Thorin had always wondered if they had ever been part of the same campaigns, but now it seemed he had his answer: they hadn’t even been in the same country.

“I was twenty-nine, and I’d been commanding the unit for two years. At that point, in the March, we were tracking the movements of a band of arms dealers who were selling weapons to various insurgent groups.”

Thorin nodded, straightening up, his hand reaching for Dain so the Labrador would follow him as he repositioned himself.

Bilbo’s gaze moved towards the window again, and the morning sun seemed only to make his face appear white. “It was only meant to be a routine surveillance duty, one we’d run so many times before, but that night…” Bilbo stopped himself before his voice caught but then, steadying himself, he continued: “I had a bad feeling. One I’ve never been able to explain. The route was clear, the intelligence we’d already gathered didn’t show up anything unusual… still I knew something was wrong. But I never told anyone, never said a word, and I led my boys out anyway.”

Bilbo’s voice had a distant quality to it, and Thorin knew he was back in that moment three years ago, seeing himself leading his unit into the night… and God, couldn’t Thorin understand? There had been no ill-feeling, but still he had led his own unit straight into the waiting jaws of an ambush. His lips parted, preparing to tell Bilbo the very same, but the look in the younger man’s eyes made him stop and he pressed his lips back together into a tight line. He knew Bilbo wasn’t telling him this so they could commiserate together.

“They were waiting for us,” came Bilbo’s hushed voice. “They knew we were coming and they dropped smoke bombs into the street we stopped in for a check point and to regroup. I was knocked out by a blow to the back of my head almost immediately.”

Bilbo was about to continue when he stopped with a wince, fingers coming up to rub against his left temple and he closed his eyes.

“I… I think I need to stop… just… just for a minute,” he murmured, letting out a long breath through his nose, his nostrils flaring.

“That’s fine, we can stop,” Thorin said gently, edging forward, but stopping himself from reaching for Bilbo.

He could clearly see how much pain the younger man was in, but his guarded, tensed posture told Thorin his touch would be unwelcome. And he understood why: Radagast had told him what became of the rest of Bilbo’s unit, and Thorin’s chest only tightened when he thought about the revelations the next part of Bilbo’s story would bring.

“Would you like some water?” he asked, after another minute of discomforting silence had passed with Bilbo still withdrawn from him.

“No thank you, love,” Bilbo replied quietly.

Thorin’s heart jolted at the affection in Bilbo’s tone: he realised a moment later it was because it was such a distinct change from the cold, almost mechanical voice Bilbo had been using to narrate so far. They sat in the quiet for a long time, Bilbo looking out the window or into his lap, Thorin trying, and mostly failing, not to look at Bilbo.

“I’d like to carry on, if that’s alright?” The warmth slipped from Bilbo’s tone with every word and Thorin resigned himself to the fact that he wasn’t going to get Bilbo back until this was over.

“Of course,” Thorin replied, although his chest contracted in protest as he straightened up again.

Bilbo twisted his fingers for a moment, and then when he spoke again, his voice was hollow, completely emptied of emotion: “When I came to, I was in a small stone courtyard. I was tied to a chair against the back wall and… and my unit were lying in front of me on their stomachs, hands bound behind their backs, black hoods over their heads…”

He closed his eyes shut, lips twisting into a grimace as he drew in another shuddering breath through his nose. Thorin sank his fingers into the fur at Dain’s neck, forcing himself not to look away from Bilbo, to keep listening, even though he had a horrible feeling he knew exactly what was coming. His breaths became shallower at the thought.

“That’s when the leader of the group stepped forward… An evil mountain of a man, known to us as… as Azog.” It seemed a struggle for Bilbo to say the name and in the end it was spat from his mouth like a curse. “I… I can’t remember what I said to him, what he said back: that part’s always been… fragmented, lost to my concussion, but I… I remember… I remember what happened after that.”

Bilbo’s eyes were shining again, the pain and the horror washing out his face, and Thorin knew what happened next was likely something Bilbo wasn’t ever going to forget, not for the rest of his life. Fingers curling around Dain’s collar, Thorin waited for him to continue.

“My men were still alive beneath the hoods,” Bilbo stated, his lips almost white. “Whatever Azog did to them meant they weren’t struggling, but they were… twitching… whimpering… I can still hear –”

Bilbo cut himself off abruptly, reaching up to scrub at his eyes. When he pulled his hands away his cheeks were red and raw. Thorin opened his mouth to intervene, but Bilbo spoke over him.

“I watched as Azog walked to the end of the line, took out his semi-automatic, and shot one of my soldiers in the back of the head.”

A tear slid down Bilbo’s cheek, but he didn’t reach up to wipe it away, he only held Thorin’s gaze with grey, stony eyes, and Thorin wished, with a horrible pang in his stomach, that he could look away, but he wouldn’t do that to Bilbo. He was determined to follow him wherever his story led.

“I think I cried out at first, at least struggled, shouted… but after he shot the second member of my unit, and the third, I… I couldn’t make a sound anymore…”

Thorin could feel his own eyes burning as the horrific scene played out in front of him, but still he refused to look away.

“I was powerless… I… I couldn’t do _anything_ … as he went down the line and murdered each of my men right in front of me… And every time he pulled the trigger, he… he made sure he was looking at me… looking at me and smiling… fucking _smiling_ … and the rest were all watching and laughing… and I was useless, weak… tied to a fucking chair whilst my unit were being slaughtered three feet in front of me.”

Bilbo’s fingers had become twisted in his hair as he gritted his teeth, and then his hands folded into fists as he let out a few furious huffs. With a sharp pain in his stomach, Thorin remembered the dissociative episode where Bilbo had actually pulled out some of his own hair and, throwing caution to the wind, he moved forward and reached for Bilbo’s wrists.

“Don’t touch me!” Bilbo snapped, his voice vicious enough to make Thorin flinch back.

“Okay, okay,” Thorin whispered, tears stinging his eyes as he held up his hands in a placating gesture. “I won’t touch you, but, Bilbo, I need you to take your hands out of your hair… Please, love, you’re going to hurt yourself.”

The words were full of appalling irony, but Thorin was resolute as he stared across at Bilbo, who stared back, his grey eyes almost flashing black.

“Please,” he said again, the word a soft plea, edged with as much affection as he could muster.

He was about to threaten to call in Dr. Grey when Bilbo’s fingers slowly slid out of his hair. He lowered his hands into his lap, hunching forward again. Thorin could see that Bilbo was hurting and it was agony, knowing he was the real reason for the reopening of this wound, but still unable to stop the march of pain as Bilbo relived the darkest period of his life. Thorin’s insides burned with it all, but he carefully moved back into his chair.

“I never counted the bodies,” Bilbo said, gaze fixed firmly in his lap.

Thorin raised an eyebrow, unsure if he had misheard. “What?”

“I never counted the bodies,” Bilbo repeated, with obvious irritation. His face transformed into a disturbing mask of indifference. “And they never made it home… I don’t know what Azog and his men did with them and the Forces never found a trace of them.”

Bilbo was blinking back tears again, his tone becoming bitter. “All… all those families with no bodies to bury: I was the only body that made it back, and I had no one left to bury me.”

This sinister play on words left Thorin feeling sick, and he was sure Bilbo had said this before: to Dr. Grey, to the nurses, to himself in the dead hours of the night… a self-made bit of masochism to cope with the survivor’s guilt that was now so obviously eating him up inside. And even though Thorin had no idea what to say to him, he guessed his words would be thrown back at him anyway.

“I knew they wouldn’t kill me right away,” Bilbo continued, and his voice had lost its edge, only to be replaced by pain. “I prayed that they would, that the last bullet was meant for me… but that would have been too merciful.”

The ache spread out from Thorin’s chest, as if his heart was beating out poison into his veins. He wasn’t sure if he could cope with the next, inevitable part of Bilbo’s story… but he was going to find a way to stay with him until he reached the end.

“They dragged my chair inside and decided to use my stomach as an ashtray,” Bilbo stated bluntly, picking at his hoodie sleeve. “After that… they wanted information. I wouldn’t give it to them. So they cut a line into my chest for every question I didn’t answer.”

Thorin did close his eyes then, trying to quell the tears that had been steadily dribbling down his face since Bilbo had told him how his unit had met their end. He had seen Bilbo’s bare torso: the dark brown circles left by cigarettes, the thin, impossibly straight lines which had once been red. Now his mind was conjuring images of Bilbo crying out as they were inflicted and it was almost too much to bear.

“Would you like me to stop?”

That sounded like Bilbo again, and Thorin slowly opened his eyes. Yes, he would like Bilbo to stop, but only so the part of him which housed denial could pretend that none of this had happened, that none of it was true. And Thorin knew he was better than that.

“No,” he said, voice barely more than a whisper. “I… I’m okay… I need to hear this.” _You need to tell me._

Bilbo slowly lowered his chin. He rubbed at his eyes again, with less violence than before.

“I don’t know how long the interrogation lasted… They kept me underground so I couldn’t even use sunlight to determine the days. But finally, when it became obvious that I was of little use to them, that I was never going to give them the information they wanted, I asked them to kill me… no, I… I begged them to kill me. It was a mistake.”

Thorin stiffened. He knew what that meant.

“I had suddenly become useful to them again… as a form of entertainment. They knew I wanted to die, so they kept me alive… for sport.”

“Sick bastards.” The words left Thorin’s mouth before he could stop them, and still he felt they were a gross understatement for the absolutely diabolical things they had done to Bilbo. His breathing was growing shallower again.  

Bilbo didn’t react, looking away from Thorin to inspect the sleeves of his hoodie. “I don’t know how long the torture went on for.” His voice went beyond mechanical now and was simply detached. “They cut me open, burned me, broke the bones in my toes with their bare hands… and they… they started blowing a whistle whilst they did it… so in the end they’d trained me to expect pain when they whistled, so I felt it anyway, whether they inflicted it or not… _No better than a bloody dog!_ ”

Bilbo voice rose, cracking through the detachment, and the tears clouded Thorin’s eyes again. “Bilbo…” he said, sounding choked, and it brought the younger man back to himself, if only for a second.

“Then at night, whilst I was sleeping, dead to the world with exhaustion and blood loss, they’d start flooding my cell.”

Thorin’s blood ran cold. He’d heard this before.

“They flooded it with water and ran an electric current through it, making me spasm whilst they laughed at me.” Bilbo’s voice had been drifting, and now his gaze seemed to be out of focus, like he wasn’t really present anymore. “That was the worst thing… apart from Hamfast…” Bilbo’s eyes suddenly locked on Thorin and they were full of such fear they made his heart stop beating in his chest. This was something Thorin hadn’t been supposed to hear, and they both knew it.

“Bilbo,” Thorin said, hardly daring to breathe. “What do you mean? Who’s Hamfast?”

“No,” Bilbo gasped, face completely drained of colour. “No, I never said that… I didn’t… I didn’t mean… The electrocution… that was the worst part… It was…”

The lie was scratched across Bilbo’s face like a scar and Thorin found himself reaching out for Bilbo, only to have him stagger out of his chair, stumbling to his feet and moving away, out of his grasp.

 “Bilbo,” Thorin said, rising to his feet as his voice snagged on the hook of pain in his chest. “Bilbo, please will you tell me?”

Bilbo had his arms wrapped around himself, his white face prickling with sweat, the tears leaving silvery trails on his cheeks. “I can’t,” he wheezed. “I can’t tell you.”

Thorin took a step forward and Bilbo flinched back, fingers digging into his arms.

“Bilbo,” Thorin tried again, sounding breathless. “Whatever it is, I –”

“I haven’t told anyone,” Bilbo choked out, his whole body seeming to tremble. “No one knows… I haven’t even told Gandalf…”

 _Oh my God_.

Rational thought told Thorin to stop this, to let Bilbo take a break when he was so clearly on the verge of losing it and catapulting himself into an episode, but then his instincts propelled him forward, telling him that if Bilbo didn’t speak now, he never would again, and then they would lose him forever.

He moved forward again, coming face to face with Bilbo in one stride and his hands closed over the fingers digging into his hoodie.

“Bilbo, listen to me,” he said, tone harsher than he’d intended, but still it made Bilbo look at him, and really look at him, not through him. “This is destroying you: all the hatred and the anger and the guilt… It’s toxic and it’s been killing you slowly for years… and you need to stop giving it that power!”

Bilbo winced, eyes wide with fear, and Thorin instantly regretted raising his voice so forcefully, but then Bilbo murmured: “Okay.”

Thorin blinked, heart once again coming to a stop inside his chest. “Okay?”

“I… I just need to…”

Bilbo was sinking in his arms and, deciding against taking his weight, Thorin slowly moved with him, guiding them down onto the floor. He kept his hands on Bilbo’s shoulders and in turn, Bilbo’s fingers moved to clutch at the front of Thorin’s t-shirt and he could feel them shaking against his chest.

“Are you comfortable?” Thorin asked quietly, knowing that, at this point, it seemed like a ridiculous question, but still Bilbo nodded, letting out a shuddering breath.

Thorin rubbed his thumbs in soothing circles on Bilbo’s arms, waiting with pain rampaging through his chest, for the final act of this story which had never been heard before, which Bilbo had kept hidden inside him for years until it had almost rotted him from the inside out.

“I never counted the bodies,” Bilbo said, voice high and tight as he stared down at his fingers gripping Thorin’s shirt. “So I didn’t realise my second-in-command, Lieutenant Hamfast Gamgee, was still alive… until they threw him into my cell.”

 _Jesus Christ_. Thorin closed his eyes, forcing himself to swallow as Bilbo continued to shake in his arms.

“Such a stupid, stupid mistake,” Bilbo spat, hands tightening as he huffed against the tears. “They’d kept him alive… waiting for this moment. They said it was my reward. I… I…”

Bilbo broke off, the cry jamming in his throat as he relinquished his hold on Thorin’s top.

“Bilbo,” Thorin urged, but Bilbo only shook his head, more sweat shining with the tears on his pale face.

“I can’t, Thorin… I can’t…”

“Yes, you can,” Thorin said, tone firm: there was no way he was giving up on him now. “You can tell me, Bilbo.”

Bilbo drew in a shallow breath that became a sob. Thorin had expected a more gentle approach might be needed, but then Bilbo was speaking again, no trace of detachment in his tone, only sadness and pain that seemed without an end.

“They… they t-tossed a loaded pistol into the cell with him… Said they were finally b-bored with us and now th-they were going to sit and… and watch the camera feed… sit and watch us die.”

Thorin slid one hand around to Bilbo’s back, stroking carefully up and down and the younger man sucked more air into his lungs, trying to suppress the stammer in his voice.

“Hamfast was barely conscious, but… he was alive. They’d… they’d tortured him too, beaten him, broken every bone in his fingers so that… that they could hardly be recognised as hands…” Another sob escaped Bilbo and he hunched his shoulders. “I… I’d been alone for so long… just seeing him again, like he was back from the dead… but… he wasn’t the same. I pulled him into my lap and… and…”

Bilbo’s hands moved into his hair again, tightening around the sweat-drenched curls.

“Hey, Bilbo, no,” Thorin said, carefully reaching up to pull his hands away. “Don’t do that, love, you don’t need to do that.”

Bilbo let Thorin twine their fingers together and then he lifted his grey eyes to meet Thorin's: the look in them so haunting, so final, as if he thought he was saying goodbye.

“If… If I’d counted the bodies… realised there was someone else alive… I could have saved him,” he whispered. “I would have found a way to save him.”

Thorin opened his mouth to protest, but once again, Bilbo spoke over him.

“Hamfast begged me to kill him… He begged me over and over again… He… He knew I wanted to die too, and he begged me not to kill myself and leave him alone with them… Our captors were… were listening and… and they made it quite clear that if… if I didn’t kill Hamfast, they would… only they’d… they’d m-make his death as slow and p-painful as possible.”

The tears were hot and stinging as they slid down Thorin’s cheeks and he held Bilbo closer. He knew now what it was that Bilbo had kept rotting inside himself: all that was left was for Bilbo to tell him.

“So… I… I moved Hamfast back onto the floor… and picked up the gun. He… he said he wanted to look at me as he died… instead of… of closing his eyes like a coward… He said… _Oh god_ …”

Bilbo scrunched up his face as the pain ripped through him, and Thorin made gentle shushing sounds, moving his arms around his back.

“He said he wanted to look at… at the face of his captain, his brother, as he died… that he would have followed me anywhere…”

Bilbo choked on another sob, reaching out and clutching at the fabric of Thorin’s t-shirt, and Thorin held onto him fiercely, steadying him in his grip.

“So I… I took the pistol… put it to his forehead… and… and I shot him. I… I killed him, Thorin, I killed him… My best friend…”

Thorin’s heart sank into his stomach as he felt Bilbo’s pain crashing out of him in waves, but he was determined for them to weather the storm together, to reach the time of ‘After’ safely, if not completely unscathed. He held Bilbo, trying to steady him as he sucked in a sharp, faltering breath.

“I… I knew they’d all be laughing as they watched and… and I wanted them all dead… but I… I wanted to die more… I wanted to die, and now I was finally getting what I wanted… So I… I put the gun to my head and pushed it right into my temple…”

Bilbo flinched, his head bowed slightly, and Thorin knew he was remembering what it felt like to have the cool metal of the gun pressed against his head.

“I made sure I was staring right into the camera and… and smiling… like Azog did when he… when he killed my men… So I kept smiling, looked up at the camera, and pulled the trigger and… and nothing happened...”

Bilbo screwed up his eyes, as if reliving the horrific realisation that moment must have brought.

“There was just a dull click… I tried again and again, but nothing… Click… click… click…”

Bilbo’s brow twitched with each word, still caught up in the memory.

“I checked the magazine and… and there’d only ever been one bullet in the gun… This had all been just another one of their games… They tricked me…”

Bilbo’s lips were sweaty and trembling as he spoke, and as the younger man sagged in his arms, Thorin was scared that he was going to pass out, but Bilbo seemed just as determined to make sure he followed through to the final word of his story.

“The next day they drove out and… d-dumped me in front of my base, so that they were sure I’d live… so th-that I’d have to live with… with everything I’ve done…”

“Bilbo…” Thorin pushed through the thick, cloying cloud of his own pain, wrapping his arms around Bilbo again.

“I watched my whole unit get butchered because of me… and I killed Hamfast… I should have got us out… I should have got us all out but I didn’t… and they died… and I can never forgive myself!”

“Bilbo, listen to me!” Thorin’s hands moved up to cup Bilbo’s face and he forced the younger man to look at him, feeling his tears wetting the thumbs pressed against his cheeks. “Listen to me, Bilbo… You might not be able to forgive yourself just yet… but I forgive you… I forgive you, because I would have done the exact same thing if I’d been in your position.”

Bilbo let out a cry, trying to look away, trying to shake his face from Thorin’s hands, but Thorin only turned his head again.

“Bilbo, look at me… look at me, sweetheart… See, I’m still looking at you the same way I have done every day since the day we first met… You’ve told me everything now, I know what happened, everything you did… and I still love you… I love you so much, Bilbo…”

It was as if some horrific spell had been broken, and suddenly Bilbo was collapsing forward, his pained expression melting into sheer, sweaty exhaustion and, letting out a long, low cry, he threw his arms around Thorin’s neck. Thorin pulled Bilbo into his lap, wrapping his arms around his back and holding him against his chest.

“It’s alright, I’ve got you, I’m here,” Thorin continued to mumble a string of reassurances as Bilbo began crying in earnest, his face pressed into Thorin’s collar bone.

Thorin wasn’t sure how much time had passed when he felt someone wrapping a soft, heavy blanket around his shoulders and heard the buzz of more than one voice moving around him. He also became aware of a warm weight pressing against his thigh, which he guessed must be Dain. He found he didn’t quite have the strength to lift his head, but he knew this meant that they had done it: they had made it into the time of ‘After’.

Bilbo shifted against his chest, letting out a broken ‘Thorin’, and so he only held him tighter, rubbing his back and rocking him gently as they sat together on the floor of Dr. Grey’s quiet, sunlit office.


	47. Chapter 47

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The dust settles.

_Thorin…?_

_Thorin, can you hear me…?_

The words wove their way with sluggish speed through the fog in Thorin’s mind as he struggled to return to the present moment, to the quiet, sunlit room. Lifting his chin from his chest, he blinked away the mist that had fallen over his eyes and found Dr. Grey crouching in front of him with a soft smile, his blue gaze warm and reassuring.

“There you are,” the doctor said, and his tone was gentle, as if he was expecting Thorin to startle. “We’ll need to take Bilbo from you now.”

Thorin returned a look of confusion, before his mind caught up with the moment and he registered the weight of Bilbo in his arms. He turned his head to look down – the whole movement feeling as if it were done in slow-motion – and then his heart jolted, his whole body feeling suddenly cold and clammy. Bilbo’s eyes were closed, his mouth hanging slack as his head lolled against Thorin’s chest.

“Bilbo?” Thorin whispered, throat tightening with panic.

The younger man didn’t stir. He must have lost consciousness whilst Thorin’s mind had retreated into itself, and now Thorin’s heart was frantically punching the ribs that lay beneath Bilbo’s cheek. Dr. Grey reached out a pale, long-fingered hand to Bilbo’s shoulder but Thorin flinched away, pulling Bilbo with him and tightening his hold on the limp body in his arms.

“Thorin,” Dr. Grey said calmly. “Bilbo has just become a little too overwhelmed by the situation. He will be fine, but we do need to get him back to bed so he can rest.”

Thorin was watching the doctor carefully through narrowed eyes when a metallic clunk sounded from the office doorway, making him jump. Haldir and a team of nurses were waiting there with a gurney, although they seemed to be keeping their distance.

Gaze moving back to Bilbo, Thorin’s heart continued its manic thumping as he took in the sweat-darkened curls and the clear beads of water dotted across his pale forehead. He knew he needed to let Bilbo go, that he needed to be returned to the ward, but his rational thoughts were fighting against some innate, animalistic instincts that kept his arms tightly locked around Bilbo’s unconscious form.

“I’m a little worried that Bilbo may be dehydrated,” Dr. Grey continued patiently, when Thorin showed no signs of co-operating. “This, along with a combination of fatigue and psychological stress has led to his loss of consciousness… I really would like to examine him, Thorin, so do you think you might be able to let us take him?”

Exhaling a long breath, Thorin forced himself to nod, the movement once again feeling slow and mechanical. It took a few moments for his arms to catch up with his decision, but then he was carefully releasing his hold on Bilbo, allowing Dr. Grey and two nurses to take him away. They lifted him between them and gently settled him onto the gurney. With a heavy cold wrapping itself around him, and knowing he would be unable to stand on his own, Thorin stayed sitting on the floor, his throat tightening further.

“Okay, I want a line in… Let’s get some fluids and –”

Haldir’s voice was lost as Bilbo was wheeled away down the corridor. Thorin’s gaze remained fixed on the doorway, and he was surprised to find Dr. Grey hadn’t followed them back to the ward. Instead the doctor turned and approached Thorin again, moving with caution as he came to kneel in front of him.

“How are you feeling, Thorin?” he asked quietly.

Thorin had come to seriously resent this asinine question and one day he was sure he was just going to snap with: “I’m fucking fine and dandy, Dr. Grey, how are you?”, but today was not that day.

“I… I’m cold,” he murmured, avoiding the doctor’s eye.

Dr. Grey nodded, expression sympathetic. “Rosie, could you find us another blanket? There should be one in the cupboard by the window.”

Thorin almost jumped out of his skin as the nurse rose from the floor at his side and went to retrieve a blanket. He hadn’t even registered her presence in the room, let alone the fact that she had been sitting next to him the whole time. It was then that he finally became aware of Dain curled up by his left leg. The Labrador saw him looking and his brown eyes instantly brightened. He shuffled forward and settled his head on Thorin’s knee, giving a few excited pants.

“Hello, mister,” Thorin said quietly, lifting a hand to scratch Dain’s ears, making his tail thump on the floor.

“Here you go, Thorin.” Rosie reappeared at his side and wrapped another blanket around his shoulders, ensuring he was properly covered but careful not to let her touch linger too long.

“Do you feel sick?” Dr. Grey was studying him again.

Thorin shook his head.

“Any pain in your chest?”

There was a pause as Thorin considered the thudding of his heart, which had slowed now, allowing the ache in his ribs to recede. He shook his head again.

“Good,” Dr. Grey said, his small smile returning. “Would you mind if I checked your pulse?”

Thorin slowly moved his hand out from under the cocoon of blankets and held his wrist out for the doctor. Fingers were pressed into the skin there, and a silence descended over the room. They were well into the time of ‘After’ now: it was a time of quiet and soft light, and Thorin looked past Dr. Grey’s shoulder, watching the dust particles fluttering in the slant of sun coming from the office’s large window.

“Is Bilbo going to be okay?” Thorin formed the words carefully as his eyes moved to Dr. Grey.

He had been given such assurances when Bilbo was taken from his arms, but he hoped the doctor understood what he was really asking.

Dr. Grey’s fingers left his wrist and an unfamiliar expression appeared. Thorin had to blink to be sure the last remnants of fog in his mind weren’t being deceptive, but the image before him didn’t change. There were tears very slowly but surely forming in the corners of Dr. Grey’s light blue eyes.

“You truly are one of the most remarkable people I have ever met, Thorin,” the doctor said, and his voice seemed to hold so much behind it. “For over three years I have been working with Bilbo, trying to understand this final piece in the puzzle, trying to convince him to share it with me… and now, thanks to you, we are finally here.”

Thorin felt his own eyes begin to sting. He had always known Dr. Grey to be calm and controlled, reserved even in his affection and reassurance. Seeing the emotions playing across the doctor’s face now was almost too much to bear.

“This is an unprecedented breakthrough,” Dr. Grey continued, and then he reached out and placed a hand over Thorin’s, his touch light so as not to intrude. “The road ahead is not going to be an easy one for Bilbo, but I cannot stress enough just how much of a positive step he has taken today.”

Thorin nodded, and despite the tears beginning to dribble down his cheeks, he found himself managing a smile as he looked up at the doctor. Dr. Grey returned his smile as he lifted his glasses so he could discreetly wipe away his own tears.

“Now, I must go and check on Bilbo. I will leave you in Rosie’s capable hands, and please take all the time you need. Return to the ward when you feel ready.”

With these final reassurances, Dr. Grey got to his feet. A silent exchange seemed to pass between him and Rosie, and then, after one final smile in Thorin’s direction, he left the office.

Rosie moved around so she was back in Thorin’s sightline. “How’s that extra blanket working out for you?” she asked, smiling.

Thorin’s fingers curled around the edges of the thick blankets. “Good,” he replied, before adding: “I didn’t know you were here.”

It took Rosie a moment to figure out what Thorin meant, and then she was smirking. “Well, that’ll be a first.”

They sat in silence for a few moments, Thorin running his fingers lightly over Dain’s head, still resting on his knee and the Labrador flicked out his tongue to lick his hand.

“I’ve got some toasty, warm flannels courtesy of Radagast,” Rosie said, after a while, and she moved a plastic basin containing a small pile of neatly folded towels across the floor. “Sound good?”

Thorin watched the faint whisps of steam rising from the pile and nodded. He always found their heat comforting at times like this. Rosie carefully lifted a flannel from the pile and held it out to him. Thorin’s hand moved out from under his blanket, but although his fingers felt leaden and heavy, they were still trembling as if they were made from paper. He dropped the hand into his lap.

“Want me to do the honours?” came Rosie’s gentle prompt.

With someone else, Thorin may have felt embarrassed or frustrated, but Rosie was always sympathetic without being patronising, able to care and not smother. “Please,” he answered.

“Okay, I’ll just have to squidge a little closer to you.”

Rosie waited a beat before moving to his side, and then she slowly raised the warm flannel to his forehead, holding it there for a while before carefully wiping it across his hairline. Thorin stayed completely still, closing his eyes and focusing on the heat of the flannel sinking into his skin, tracking its soothing movements across his face and beard. Rosie swapped the flannel over and then dabbed at his neck and the top of his chest, clearing away the cold sweat that was speckled there.

“How are we doing?” she asked, returning the flannel to the basin.

Thorin peeked open an eye. “Better… thank you.”

Rosie nodded and then, sensing he might need a little space, her attention moved to the pile of flannels in front of her as they slipped into silence again. Thorin’s eyes followed Rosie’s hands as they sorted through the towels, but his mind was elsewhere. Now that he knew Bilbo was elsewhere, being taken care of, he felt he was able to begin processing the morning’s revelations. A single gunshot sounded in one distant corner of his mind, and Thorin’s heart crumpled. He slid his fingers into the fur at Dain’s neck.

“Everything he went through…” Thorin murmured, and Rosie looked up. “Everything they did to him… and it only made him want to help people.”

Rosie’s smile was sad as she moved closer to his side again. “I know,” she replied, voice equally quiet. “One day soon he’ll realise just how much good he’s done, how many people he’s saved.”

Thorin closed his eyes with a wince as Bilbo’s voice sounded in his ears.

_I could have saved him… I would have found a way to save him…_

It was an eerie echo of the conversation he had had with Graham only a few weeks ago, but now Thorin understood Bilbo’s motivations with devastating clarity. He hadn’t been able to save his unit, hadn’t been able to save Hamfast, and so Bilbo had dedicated all his time in Ered Luin to saving other people, as if he felt a need to atone for the horrific things he had experienced.

Leaning closer to Rosie, the nurse took this silent cue and slipped her arm around Thorin’s back. His hand appeared from underneath the blankets and Rosie gently took it, squeezing his fingers. They sat there quietly for a few minutes, listening to the steady ticking of Dr. Grey’s wall clock, and then Thorin shifted on the spot, rolling his shoulders.

“Do you want to go back to the ward?” Rosie asked, releasing his hand.

“I think so,” Thorin answered, and so the nurse pulled the blankets from his shoulders and helped him to get to his feet.

Thorin’s head still felt a little foggy as they walked down the corridor to the ward, but the feelings cleared almost instantly as he passed the nurses’ station and arrived at Bilbo’s room. Bilbo was lying in the middle of his bed, sheets pulled down to his waist, and there was an IV line snaking out from his right wrist. His grey hoodie had been removed – one glance confirmed it was hanging off the back of a chair by the window – and there was a blood pressure cuff wrapped around the top of his arm, along with an oximeter clipped to his finger. Haldir was standing at the foot of the bed, making notes on Bilbo’s chart.

His pace slowing to a wary shuffle, Thorin moved around the bed and took a seat in his usual chair. Dain settled down onto the floor at his side. Avoiding Haldir’s gaze, he eyed up Bilbo’s hand resting on the bed in front of him.

“You can hold his hand,” Haldir said suddenly, looking up from the clipboard. “We’ve given him a mild sedative, so you won’t wake him: he should sleep for another couple of hours.”

“Okay.” Thorin shifted in the chair with a cough, and then gently reached out and took Bilbo’s hand, rubbing his thumb over his knuckles.

Bilbo’s face was still pale, but the sticky beads of sweat had been wiped away and he seemed to be breathing easily, his chest, free of blankets, was rising and falling with an even rhythm.

It was whilst he was watching Bilbo that something that had so far gone unnoticed clicked into place in Thorin’s mind. He turned back to Haldir, who was, admittedly, doing a pretty decent job of hiding his exhaustion. “You worked the night shift,” he stated, brow furrowed, before hoping, belatedly, that the doctor would think Bilbo had told him as much.

Haldir seemed taken back by this assertion, but then he replied: “Yes… I, well, I wanted to see this through. I’ll be going home shortly.”

Thorin studied Haldir with an emotion he had never before attributed to the junior doctor: admiration. He had actually stayed at the hospital hours after his shift ended, having just worked for thirteen hours through the night, because he cared about the outcome of Bilbo’s session.

Haldir coughed, seeming uncomfortable under Thorin’s scrutiny. He placed Bilbo’s chart back into the box at the foot of his bed. “You can tell Bilbo when he wakes up that I’ve left my cigarettes in his bedside drawer.”

“Oh,” Thorin said, glancing at the bedside table. “I, er, I’m sure he’ll be pleased.”

Haldir managed a smile: it was a slightly strained, awkward affair, as if he wasn’t used to the action of smiling, but still it was there and it was meant.

He then gave a nod and was turning to leave when Thorin called after him. “Dr. March?”

The doctor stopped. “Yes?”

“Thank you.”

The smile reappeared, this time without the strain, and then Haldir left the room with Thorin staring after him. If there was something Thorin had learnt this year, it was that old wounds may be difficult to heal, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t worth the try and that it wasn’t possible.

Now he was left alone, Thorin turned back to Bilbo, gently squeezing his fingers. He lifted his hand from the bed and leaned forward so that he could press a kiss to the back of it. The desire to have Bilbo back in his arms, clutched close to his chest, was a raw ache in his stomach, but for now, this was enough.

He had been sitting there for only a few minutes when his fingers accidentally brushed over the tip of the scar on the inside of Bilbo’s left wrist. Thorin couldn’t see it, but he could see its mirror image on Bilbo’s right wrist, lying across the bed from him. He had seen the twin scars before, when Bilbo’s stitches had first been removed, but he had tried not to let his gaze linger on them. Now, however, he found he couldn’t quite manage to look away. The scar was only just becoming a scar, still caught in the painful place between wound and healing. It was an ugly purple, much straighter than the jagged scar from the mirror shard, and stretched almost the length of Bilbo’s forearm.

Feeling his vision begin to blur, Thorin finally looked away. He felt phantom pain in his chest as he realised that because of the scars inflicted by the sick, inhuman games played by Azog and his men, Bilbo had ended up creating his own. Slowly turning Bilbo’s hand in his, he lifted his wrist to his lips, pressing a feather-light kiss to the still-forming scar, hoping to hasten its healing. Squeezing his eyes shut, Thorin also prayed desperately to whomever might be up there listening that this would be Bilbo’s last scar, that there would be no more, ever.

For the rest of the morning, Thorin drifted in and out of awareness as the exhaustion slowly sank into his bones. Sometimes he caught his eyelids drooping, but then he jolted himself back into the room, feeling the warmth of Bilbo’s hand in his, anchoring him to the moment.

It was in one of these periods of drifting that Thorin was suddenly pulled back by a hand on his shoulder.

“Thorin?”

Thorin peered dazedly up at Rosie, who was standing at his side. “Hmm?”

“Fili is on the ward phone,” the nurse explained. “She’d like to speak to you, but if you don’t feel up to it, I’m sure she’ll understand.”

“Is she alright?” Thorin raised a concerned eyebrow.

“I think she’s the one worried about you,” Rosie replied.

“Oh…” Thorin started to pull himself up out of the chair. “I can speak to her.”

With Dain trotting along at his side, he followed Rosie back to the nurses’ station and she handed him the receiver.

“Fili?” Thorin said quietly.

“Oh… Er, hi, Uncle… I’m really sorry,” Fili replied, immediately sounding sheepish. “I tried to call Mum first to see how you’d gone on this morning, but she wasn’t picking up… I know she’s been acting all weird and distant this week, but I still kind of panicked a bit… Yeah, sorry.”

“It’s alright.”

Thorin slowly sorted through this new information. He wasn’t sure what Fili meant about Dis being ‘weird’ that week, although he had noticed his sister had been more irritable than usual yesterday. Still, he understood Fili’s concern: she’d obviously drawn the conclusion that she couldn’t get hold of her mother because something had happened at the hospital.

“You didn’t call me on my mobile,” Thorin said, hand unconsciously moving to the rectangular lump in his jeans pocket.

“Yeah, I, er, didn’t want to disturb you… if you were busy with Bilbo,” Fili answered, and then there was a pause in which Thorin could practically hear the questions forming in Fili’s mind. “Are you both okay?”

“Bilbo’s resting at the moment… I’m going to ask if I can stay with him tonight.”

“Okay, I can pack you an overnight bag when I get in.”

Thorin had to smile at that. “Thank you.”

Another pause indicated that Fili was trying to form her next words carefully. “Uncle… You don’t have to tell me what happened today, but can… can you just tell me if… if you and Bilbo are going to stay together? Like, it hasn’t changed how you feel about each other?”

Thorin felt his stomach clench and something black flashed in his mind as he saw himself sitting on the floor of Dr. Grey’s office with Bilbo’s face cradled in his hands… but then he told himself to breathe. He knew his niece wasn’t insinuating anything about him or Bilbo, and she was only worried about the power secrets had to tear people apart. They hadn’t known what it was Bilbo was going to reveal about his MIA, and so he forced himself to see past his defensive instincts and recognise that he had held exactly the same anxieties, even if he’d never voiced them out loud.

“Yes, we are going to stay together,” Thorin replied, trying to keep his voice even. “Bilbo has… he’s been through some really, really horrible things, but it hasn’t changed how we feel about each other.”

“Oh, thank God… I mean, er, I’m glad… I’m really glad about that.”

Thorin could feel Fili’s relief pouring through the phone and he was sure he heard her sigh.

“Anyway, aren’t you supposed to be in lessons?” Thorin said, wanting to switch the focus away from Bilbo, but knowing he also had certain uncle-related duties to attend to.

“It’s lunch at the moment,” Fili replied, and he was sure she was smirking.

A glance at the clock mounted above the ward’s doors confirmed that it was almost one o’ clock, so this was entirely plausible.

“Okay, but if you turn up on the ward before three I’m going to tell your mother.”

“Threat received and understood,” Fili laughed. “I’ve got Biology last anyway, and my teacher’s sound. No skiving plans today.”

“Good… So, I’ll see you this afternoon?”

“Yep, I’ll have your bag sorted.”

“Okay… and Fili?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks… for ringing.”

“No worries, Uncle. You give Bilbo a big hug from me.”

“I will… Okay, see you soon.”

“See you soon, Uncle.”

Fili hung up and Thorin passed the phone back over to Rosie, who was wearing a wry smile. Thinking the nurse wasn’t going to pass comment, Thorin turned away from the station.

“Thorin? There’s a ham and cheese sandwich on the over-bed table for you,” Rosie said, before he could get too far. “You gave me a bit of a gormless look the first time I told you about it… and the second time, so I was thinking third time lucky.”

“Oh,” Thorin mumbled, having no memory of the sandwich appearing in the room. “Sorry.”

“Not to worry,” Rosie smiled. “But you do need to eat something.”

Thorin nodded, and then made his way back to Bilbo’s room. Sure enough, there was the ham and cheese sandwich, cut into neat triangles, sitting on the over-bed table. He was reaching a hand out to the plate when he heard a sniffle, followed by a weak, raspy ‘Thorin?’.

Bilbo was stirring, his grey eyes darting blearily around the room, searching for him. Thorin was around the bed in an instant and he took Bilbo’s hand in his, the other going to stroke his forehead.

“Hey, love,” Thorin said softly. “I’m here, I’m right here.”

The distress slowly slipped from Bilbo’s face and he closed his eyes, letting out a slow breath. Thorin perched on the edge of the bed, rubbing his thumb over Bilbo’s and waiting for the younger man to properly come round.

Bilbo’s eyes stayed closed for a long time, and Thorin thought he might have drifted back to sleep, but then the lids flickered open again and grey eyes were staring up at him, filled with pain and worry.

Thorin opened his mouth, preparing to ask what was wrong, but the answer came to him before he could form his question. He could see the memories of everything that had happened in Dr. Grey’s office clouding Bilbo’s gaze, the reality of his past hanging in the short stretch between them, and Thorin realised that Bilbo, having woken to find the chair at his bedside empty, genuinely seemed to think Thorin had changed his mind.

“Bilbo,” he said, the emotion clear in his voice as he stroked his fingers across Bilbo’s forehead. “I love you: that hasn’t changed… nothing’s changed, okay, love?”

Bilbo’s eyes were shining as he replied with a quiet ‘okay’, squeezing Thorin’s hand. Thorin leaned down and brushed a few kisses against Bilbo’s forehead and then, unable to stop himself, he found his lips moving down Bilbo’s nose until they were pressed to his mouth. Bilbo tilted his head up into the kiss, his fingers tracing Thorin’s jaw, and they exchanged a series of soft, chaste kisses, their lips pulling away, only to be drawn back to each other.

It was a while before either of them could bring themselves to break apart completely, but finally Thorin straightened up, using his thumbs to gently wipe away Bilbo’s tears.

Bilbo stayed perfectly still as he did so, looking up at Thorin with an affectionate, if watery, gaze. “I love you too,” he whispered. “I… I know I don’t tell you nearly enough, but I do love you.”

Thorin smiled, kissing Bilbo’s lips again. “I know you do.”

As he made to move away, Bilbo’s hands slid up his arms, loosely encircling his back. Thorin reciprocated the hug as best he could, slipping his own hands under Bilbo’s shoulders and pushing his nose into his neck. They stayed like that for a long time, seeming to find comfort in each other’s body heat, able to feel each other’s chests rising and falling with steady breaths. Thorin knew there was so much that was going unsaid, hidden as it was in this silent embrace, but maybe now was not the time to talk about the morning, not when they were still settling into its aftermath.

“You need to drink some water,” he said finally, when he sensed Bilbo might be falling back to sleep. Even though the memory was fuzzy, he was still sure Dr. Grey had said something about Bilbo being dehydrated.

Bilbo gave a low grumble in response, and Thorin felt it vibrating against his chest.

“None of that,” he said, straightening up again. “Come on, let’s get you sat up.”

Opening his eyes, Bilbo shot Thorin a sleepy glare, but Thorin only chuckled. He helped Bilbo sit up in the bed, rearranging his pillows as the younger man eyed his IV with distaste. There was a ready-poured cup of water on the bedside table and Thorin pushed it into Bilbo’s hands. He kept one hand over Bilbo’s so that he could steady the cup whilst he drank. After a few words of encouragement, he managed to drink most of the water. Thorin returned the cup to the bedside table.

It was then that he caught Bilbo trying to get a look at both his wrists. At first his stomach tightened, but then he realised what it was Bilbo was searching for.

“I haven’t been readmitted,” Thorin said, taking Bilbo’s hand again.

Bilbo nodded, seeming relieved. “I’m sorry, I just… Are you…?” he trailed off, stopping himself before he began the Dr. Grey style questioning, but Thorin didn’t begrudge him wanting to know if he was alright.

“I’m fine, Bilbo,” he said, hoping his smile would be reassuring.

Bilbo still returned a look of scrutiny, and Thorin knew he was looking for signs of a possible episode.

“At first I felt a bit funny, like I couldn’t really focus properly and I kept zoning out,” Thorin admitted, knowing honesty was the best policy. “But then Rosie sorted me out with some blankets and warm flannels.”

The crease of worry between Bilbo’s brows faded, and he seemed satisfied with this answer. He was opening his mouth to reply when Rosie herself appeared in the doorway.

“My ears were burning,” the nurse grinned, moving into the room and coming to the other side of the bed. Her eyes flitted from Bilbo to his IV to the monitor on the blue cuff wrapped around his arm. “Dr. Grey is on his way to come and see you both.”

Bilbo seemed to straighten up a little, and Thorin saw him attempting to slip on a familiar mask of stoicism. As much as it pained him, he understood why Bilbo was anxious at the prospect of coming face to face with the doctor, especially after he had successfully hidden the truth about his MIA from him for years.

“He’s just going to write up an obs and hopefully remove your IV and cuff,” Rosie explained, obviously noticing Bilbo’s discomfort. She collected the sandwich from the over-bed table. “But before he gets here you both need to get started on this sandwich.”

The nurse gave Thorin a fairly stern look as she handed the plate over.

“I was going to eat it, but then Bilbo woke up,” he protested.

“Okay, but you better get it eaten this time or so help me, I will start making aeroplane noises.”

Bilbo sniggered at that, and it made Thorin feel better. Rosie pointed at him with an ‘I’m watching you’ gesture and then left him and Bilbo to their sandwich. It was Bilbo who picked up the first triangle, and so Thorin followed suit. He watched Bilbo start nibbling on the crust and then found he couldn’t help the grin that appeared on his face.

“What?” Bilbo asked, one eyebrow raised.

“Oh.” Thorin hadn’t counted on Bilbo noticing. “Well… You, er, you ate your toast like that… When you broke your wrist and were high as a kite on pain killers.”

“You mean when I announced that I thought two people sharing toast in a hospital bed was the best way to start porn?”

Thorin’s grin widened.

“Hmm, quite worrying really… Maybe something I should mention to Dr. Cox in our first session tomorrow?”

This comment caught Thorin off-guard. “I… I wasn’t sure you’d still want to have your session tomorrow? If you’d feel up for it?”

Bilbo took a few moments to answer, seeming to consider Thorin’s words. “Today… it’s been, well, it’s been very difficult… and I’m sure it’s going to hurt even more when the drugs currently floating about in my system wear off, when what happened today really starts to hit me… but for now, I think I’d just like to keep moving forward. God knows I’ve spent enough time looking back.”

Thorin twined the fingers of his sandwich-free hand with Bilbo’s, feeling warmth blossoming up from his stomach. “I’ll second that motion.”

“We can toast to it with our sandwiches,” Bilbo suggested, with mock-seriousness, and he held his triangle of ham and cheese sandwich aloft like a wine glass.

Thorin mimicked him and then their sandwiches came together in a toast, just as they had once clinked coffee cups in the leafy, walled garden of the Esgaroth Coffee House all those months ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, so I’m really sorry this update is a little shorter than usual. In all honesty, I didn’t realise how hard the last chapter had hit me until I sat down to write this one and it turned out to be a real struggle. However, I’m hoping to write next weekend, so I should be able to get a longer update to you then!
> 
> Thank you all so much for continuing to support this fic, and for braving the last chapter – your feedback on such an important point in the story really did mean everything to me! :)


	48. Chapter 48

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is rated ‘P’ for progress.
> 
> Also, we’ll find out what’s eating Dis Oakenshield.

Thorin woke to the feeling of something warm shuddering against his chest. As his mind clambered carefully out of the dark pit of sleep, he unconsciously tightened his arms around Bilbo and thus discovered the source of the sensation. Bilbo was shaking. He was shaking and, though his face was pressed into Thorin’s pyjama top, small, hiccupping sounds of distress could still be heard as the fingers of one hand tightened around the fabric.

“Bilbo?” Thorin whispered, heart rising into his throat. “Bilbo, what’s wrong?”

Hands sliding up to loosely grip Bilbo’s shoulders, Thorin tried to gently pull Bilbo away from his chest, so he could see his face. The younger man resisted quite fiercely at first and Thorin was starting to panic that he would hurt him, but finally Bilbo’s head lolled back onto the pillow, and Thorin realised, with a jolt, that he was still asleep, his eyes firmly closed despite the tear tracks shimmering in the slats of moonlight from the window.  

Waking Bilbo up was something Thorin always tried to avoid, but then there came a weak, whimpered ‘Thorin’ as Bilbo’s face contorted in pain, further tears being squeezed from his closed lids. Thorin had no intention of leaving Bilbo alone to his nightmares and so he slowly pulled himself up into a sitting position. Leaning back slightly, so as to give Bilbo plenty of space, he took one hand in his and squeezed it, hopefully firmly enough to be felt in the depths of Bilbo’s dark dreams.

“Bilbo? Bilbo, love, you’re dreaming, you need to wake up,” Thorin urged, his voice rising above a whisper.

Bilbo only let out a trembling breath, head starting to jerk on the pillow. Knowing it was time to try a different tact, Thorin inhaled deeply and leaned forward. Squeezing Bilbo’s fingers again, he stroked down his pale cheek with the back of his other hand.

Bilbo’s eyes snapped open and he lurched forward, narrowly avoiding crashing into Thorin, and for a few overwrought moments he sat bolt upright in the bed, before hunching over with terrifying pants, wheezing as if he had just run a great distance. His hands reached out blindly, clawing at the bedsheets, until Thorin caught hold of them and gently turned him so that they were facing each other.

“Bilbo, you’re safe… You’re okay,” he said, fighting past the lump in his throat. “I’m here, you’re with me… It was just a dream, okay? It wasn’t real.”

Feeling Bilbo’s hands shaking in his as the younger man stared up at him with wide, watery eyes, Thorin suspected these nightmares had once been real, that Bilbo had been remembering rather than dreaming, and it set an ache vibrating deep in his chest. But he knew it was to be expected that, after everything that had transpired in Dr. Grey’s office the day before, Bilbo would encounter difficulties that night.

“We’re okay, you’re safe,” Thorin repeated, rubbing his hands in soothing movements up and down Bilbo’s arms as his breathing eased from heavy pants to intermittent hiccups. “You’re here with me… I’m not going to let anybody hurt you.”

Bilbo didn’t reply, but then his hands were sliding up Thorin’s chest to his face. They cupped his bearded cheeks, and the look of painful panic in Bilbo’s eyes only increased the ache’s raw thrumming inside his chest. Before Thorin had chance to question him, trembling fingers were suddenly tracing his brow, moving across his forehead, as if they were looking for something… _Oh God_.

“Bilbo…” Thorin breathed, feeling his own eyes starting to sting.

The hand fell away. “I shot you.”

“No,” came Thorin’s strained reply. “No, you didn’t… I’m fine.”

Bilbo’s eyes were wide with worry, his gaze full of disbelief, as if his mind was still bridged between the nightmare and the real, waking world. Desperately searching for his next move, Thorin’s mind snagged on a memory, and then he was carefully lifting one of Bilbo’s hands to his neck, guiding his fingers to a spot just beneath his jaw. He pressed the palm of his other hand flat against his chest, ensuring he was taking long, slow breaths so that Bilbo could feel his chest rising.

“I’m right here with you,” Thorin murmured, gently holding Bilbo’s hands in place. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Finally, Bilbo seemed to relax, and the recognition, the alertness was back in his shining eyes. He let out one, long exhale, which ended in a nod as he mumbled: “I know… I know.” He then sank forward into Thorin’s chest, pushing his nose into his shoulder, and Thorin slipped his arms around him, making sure that his hold was tight enough to be comforting, but equally not too constricting.

Lifting his head to rest his chin on Bilbo’s hair, Thorin jumped when he noticed Poppy standing in the doorway. He wasn’t sure how long the nurse had been there, but he was thankful that she had been tactful enough not to intrude. Poppy gave him a silent, questioning thumbs up, and Thorin lifted his hand from Bilbo’s back so he could return it. Smiling, Poppy turned away and headed back to the nurses’ station.

“I… I think I need my hoodie,” Bilbo said softly, sounding almost tentative, his cheek against Thorin’s chest.

“I’ll get it for you,” Thorin replied, cautiously loosening their embrace, trying to judge whether Bilbo would be alright with being left in bed if he got up to collect the hoodie.

Bilbo didn’t protest, only straightened up so Thorin could slip his bare feet onto the floor. He padded around the bed and went to the chair by the window. Bilbo hadn’t needed the hoodie at all the previous afternoon, which Thorin had taken as a good sign, but he supposed that had only been the calm before the storm hit. Pulling the grey hoodie from the back of the chair, he approached the bed and held it out for Bilbo, helping him slide each arm into its respective sleeve. Bilbo didn’t comment when Thorin automatically reached out to fasten the zip up to his chest. Climbing back onto the bed, Thorin watched as Bilbo picked at one of the fraying strands on the hoodie’s left sleeve. He had closed his eyes and was breathing deeply, as if calming himself.

“It’s all make-believe,” Bilbo said suddenly, breaking the silence.

Thorin’s brow furrowed with confusion. “What is?”

“Why I wear this hoodie,” Bilbo replied. “It’s like pretending, the way children play dress-up… They wrap towels and bedsheets around their shoulders like capes and think they’re indestructible, like nothing can hurt them.”

Thorin reached for Bilbo’s hand, the shame in the younger man’s voice only making his heart hurt.

“I put on this hoodie and pretend I’m still a Birmingham undergrad, like the past decade never happened, and I’m still safe in the campus library.”

Thorin had long suspected this was the reason for Bilbo’s attachment to his hoodie, and now he realised this might also explain why he had decided to fill his room with books.

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” he said quietly. “Everyone needs security blankets… Mine’s four-legged and furry and he's sleeping in the corner of this room.”

Bilbo laughed at that, and it eased the ache in Thorin’s chest. They were silent for a few moments, leaning towards each other in the dark, and then Bilbo asked: “Can we snuggle?”

This time it was Thorin’s turn to laugh. “Of course.”

They both moved to get under the bedcovers and Thorin settled onto his back, with Bilbo lying on his side next to him, one arm draped across his chest.

“Comfy?”

“Hmm.”

The quiet returned but, going by experience, Thorin guessed the silence might not be a comfortable one for Bilbo. “Would… you like me to talk to you?” he asked, not wanting to leave Bilbo alone to the voices inside his head.

“Yes… that would be nice.”

“Any topic in particular?”

Bilbo shifted against his chest, a crease appearing between his brows, and then he seemed to decide on his answer. “We, er, haven’t had a proper debriefing since we started ‘Operation Ganesh'. Every good mission needs a debriefing… and I think I need to hear it… what we’ve achieved so far.”

“Agreed,” Thorin smiled, running his fingertips lightly over the back of Bilbo’s hand. “Okay…” He cleared his throat with a cough. “So, our first objective was to make sure we celebrated your birthday and that you enjoyed it… And we got together all the people who love and care about you, and we opened your presents, and had cake… and looked at absolutely mortifying baby pictures of me.”

“It was a good day,” Bilbo said, and Thorin could feel him smiling.

“It was, so I think we definitely achieved our first mission objective.”

“We did.”

Thorin thought for a moment, trying to remember which objective they had tackled next. “Oh…” Thorin tried to keep the cringe from his voice. “And then you took on Fili as your personal stylist and we did some online shopping.”

He was sure Bilbo was grinning.

“You bought a brand-new wardrobe and you’ve got dressed every day since the clothes arrived… So I think that’s another objective achieved.”

“We also ordered something else as part of my new wardrobe,” Bilbo commented, tone positively wicked.

Thorin let out a good-natured groan. “Okay, and you succeeded in being the only person on this planet who will ever, _ever_ get me into a onesie.”

“You looked very cute in your unicorn onesie.”

“I looked like a twat.”

“A very cute twat.”

Thanking the darkness for covering his furious blushing, Thorin gave an awkward cough. He both loved and loathed it when Bilbo called him ‘cute’.

“Anyway… that was also the day we had the first ever picture taken of us together,” he said, swiftly changing the subject, giving Bilbo’s hand a squeeze.

Bilbo hummed and squeezed back. One of the photographs Fili had taken with her phone was now propped up against the frame on Bilbo’s bedside table which held the picture Dis had given him for his birthday. Thorin also had a copy of each photograph Fili had taken of the two of them sans onesies: they were in matching silver frames, spread out across the shelf above his bed.

Thorin’s mind continued to comb over the events of the past month, flicking through all the folders marked ‘Progress’ until his fingers closed around another success. “And Rowan got his job back.”

He had waited a few days after meeting the porter in the lift to tell Bilbo, but it turned out Dr. Grey had gotten there first – making sure he knew just how instrumental Thorin had been in the teenager’s return.  

“He did,” Bilbo said quietly. “Rosie says he’s really enjoying working on geriatrics.”

“That’s good.”

“Yeah, I suppose you’ll probably be seeing him again soon…”

It took Thorin a beat to get Bilbo’s jab, but then he gave him a gentle shove, making him chuckle.

“Sorry, sorry… So, what’s next?”

“You asked Dr. Grey to refer you to Dr. Cox,” Thorin replied. “And you’ve got your first appointment tomorrow… so you can act out, er, _interesting_ things with her custom-made Barbie dolls.”

A shadow – which Thorin suspected was nerves – passed over Bilbo’s face, but then he said, with a grin: “Good thing I’ve got a boyfriend who’s into yoga.”

Thorin choked and Bilbo patted his chest. He couldn’t deny he was secretly quite thankful he wasn’t joining Bilbo for his first session with the sex therapist… He’d rather hold off his death from embarrassment for as long as possible.

“Another objective achieved,” Bilbo murmured, and his voice had lost its humour.

Thorin knew it was because of what came next in the sequence of events that made up ‘Operation Ganesh’. He twined his fingers with Bilbo’s resting on his chest.

“We can stop, if you want to,” Thorin said, when Bilbo remained silent. “We can talk about something else.”

“No,” came Bilbo’s answer, but there was already a tremble in his voice. “No… it’s… it’s still an objective.”

Thorin slowly shifted onto his side and Bilbo moved with him. He felt he needed to be able to see the younger man’s face properly if they were going to talk about yesterday.

“Okay,” Thorin whispered, one hand reaching up to cradle Bilbo’s face, his thumb tracing the line of his cheekbone. He drew in a deep breath. “Yesterday, you were brave enough and strong enough to tell me the truth about what happened to you.”

“ _Brave_?” Bilbo said, his lips clearly struggling around the word, and tears were slowly but surely beginning to form in the corners of his eyes.

Thorin knew what it was to feel like a coward, and he wasn’t going to leave Bilbo to those black thoughts. “Yes, _brave_ ,” he replied firmly. “You told me yourself that being honest is difficult, really difficult, but you were honest with me, Bilbo… It would have been so much easier to never tell me, to keep hold of the secret…” Thorin had to swallow as the gunshot once again sounded in the distance. “But you didn’t… you were so brave, and you told me everything, even though you were afraid, even though it was hurting you… and…” Thorin blinked back his own tears. “And I’m so proud of you.”

Bilbo screwed up his eyes, grimacing as his fingers tightened around Thorin’s top, and his cry came out as the softest, most heart-breaking sound. Thorin pulled him into his chest. For one horrible moment, he thought Bilbo was going to push him away, but then he was pressing his face into the crook of Thorin’s neck, letting out a few sharp, shuddering breaths.

“Shhh…” Thorin soothed, rubbing slow circles into Bilbo’s back and kissing his forehead. “Shhh… I love you.” He held Bilbo closer. “I love you, and I’m right here.”

It was a long time before anyone spoke again. The tension held in Bilbo's shoulders beneath Thorin’s arms let him know that he was still awake, just taking time to process this most recent objective which, against all the odds, had been a success. It seemed inappropriate to think of it as such, but Thorin told himself that, as horrible as the experience had been, there was still no denying that it was a breakthrough.

“What about your objectives?” came Bilbo’s voice, the question quiet, wedged as it was between Bilbo’s lips and Thorin’s chest.

“My objectives?” Thorin asked, as Bilbo slowly lifted his face to meet his gaze.

“This is a joint effort, remember.”

Thorin smiled, reaching out to push a few curls out of Bilbo’s eyes. “It is… Okay, well… I went back to Faramir’s support group… and I shared something, that I had a panic attack in the car.”

Bilbo gave a noise of approval, fingers tracing the line of his collar bone.

“And I went to visit James and Linda,” Thorin continued. “I lasted a whole day at their house, making small talk, without panicking.”

“Very sociable,” Bilbo agreed, with a soft smile, and then his expression became thoughtful. “What about how assertive you’ve been recently?”

“Assertive?” Thorin raised an eyebrow.

“Telling Fili you wanted photos of us without onesies,” Bilbo prompted. “Also, I think you pretty much handed Gandalf a list of demands in one of your sessions.”

Thorin let out a low chuckle. “They were more like requests.”

“Okay, forceful requests,” Bilbo conceded, before turning pensive again. “Oh, and you made it to one of Kili’s football matches.”

Thorin nodded. “Fili’s got some videos of the match to show you.”

“Will I be able to hear you yelling in the background?”

Thorin grimaced: he’d forgotten his suspicions that Fili might have been filming him. “I wasn’t yelling,” he muttered, trying not to pout. “I was cheering for my nephew.”

“Well, I look forward to watching them.”

A comfortable silence fell between them, Bilbo contenting himself in drawing random patterns on the back of Thorin’s hand, and Thorin was happy to simply lie there and observe the graceful movements of his fingers.

“So… what’s our next objective?”

Bilbo lifted his eyes from Thorin’s hand to study him, doing a very good job of hiding his hesitance behind his grey-green gaze.

Thorin rolled his shoulders, hoping his expression was neutral enough not to betray the objective that was currently in progress about twelve thousand miles away. His mind conjured the image of the pad of paper that held four scribbled pages of objectives. He had ranked them, as Bilbo had requested, and so he searched down the line, looking for something to suggest that Bilbo would find unthreatening. There had been enough upset that night, and the previous day, and Thorin wasn’t willing to push him any further.

He inhaled slowly. “I… I wondered if you’d thought about doing your PhD?”

Bilbo didn’t reply, only studied Thorin with an indecipherable look in his eyes.

“I, er, I hope you don’t mind, but I spoke to Dis… She says Leeds University have a lot of distance-learning opportunities, like online seminars and live-feeds of lectures… She’s, er, still in contact with some of her tutors in the History department, if it’s something you’d… if you’re interested.”

Bilbo still wasn’t saying anything, and Thorin’s heart was starting to thump against his ribcage. Maybe this hadn’t been a wise suggestion after all.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, throat feeling tight. “If you’re angry with me for –”

“Oh, Thorin, I’m not angry,” Bilbo said, his voice full of affection, and it instantly made Thorin’s shoulders sink with relief. “You’ve, er, you’ve just given me a lot to think about.”

“Okay,” Thorin replied, unable to hide his smile: the fact that Bilbo was going to think about it was more than promising.

“Dr. Grey also has ties with Leeds… He asked me to start drafting a PhD proposal last year,” Bilbo said, after a while. “But I refused.”

Thorin’s heart was picking up its pace again. “Why?”

“Because I knew it would make me better.”

Thorin’s eyes widened as the realisation washed over him, and suddenly he was transported back to the morning Bilbo had broken his wrist and he had exchanged quiet words with Dr. Grey.

_“Will Bilbo ever be able to leave the hospital?”_

_“That, my dear Thorin, is not for us to decide.”_

He had never understood the doctor’s reply until now. It had always been up to Bilbo – not Dr. Grey or anyone else – whether or not he would ever be well enough to leave Ered Luin. Thorin had recognised quite a long time ago now that Bilbo presented the greatest obstacle to himself, but now he knew just how true this was. He had known working on a PhD thesis would have been a tremendously positive step, and so he had refused, in the same way he had refused to reveal the truth about his MIA, because he wanted to keep himself sick… because he didn’t think he deserved to get better.

“Thorin? Thorin…?”

Soft fingertips were tracing his beard, slowly coaxing him back to the present, and Thorin found Bilbo studying him with obvious concern.

“I lost you for a little while,” he murmured. “Where did you go?”

There was a dull throb at Thorin’s temples as he let out a long breath. He knew it was probably selfish of him to hope they were done with revelations for the week, but he wasn’t sure he could survive another brainwave like that.

“I was just… just thinking about ‘Operation Ganesh’,” he replied, squeezing Bilbo’s shoulder in reassurance. He swallowed to try and relieve the tight feelings in his throat. “Do… do you think you might want to start drafting a PhD proposal now?”

“Well, I’d need a pen and some paper first.”

Thorin knitted his brows. “I, er, I didn’t mean right now, I meant –”

Bilbo kissed Thorin’s cheek with a laugh. “I knew what you meant… and yes, I’ll think about drafting a proposal.”

“You… you will?” Thorin stammered, giddiness suddenly sprouting from his stomach.

“I will,” Bilbo replied. “In all honesty, reading Fili and Balin’s essays has been making me a little antsy to start writing something of my own. I almost wrote a lit review of my bookshelves just for fun… I think I’d rather do something that actually counts.”

“That’s great,” Thorin said, the giddiness spreading up to warm his chest, the ache long forgotten.

Bilbo was grinning at him now and the same giddy feelings shone from his face. “I’m really glad we talked about this.”

Thorin leaned down and pressed a kiss to Bilbo’s forehead. “So am I… Really, really glad.”

 

…

 

Turning the book on its side, Thorin let out a choked sound and his eyes immediately went to his bedroom door to ensure that yes, it was closed shut. He quickly turned the book back, deciding he really didn’t need to see the very large ‘diagram’ right side up. He quickly turned the page.

It was approaching midnight and he had been reading for the past half hour. When Fili had shouted her ‘Goodnight, Uncle!’ through the door he had almost chucked the book at poor Dain in his panic. The Labrador was now curled up at a safe distance by Thorin’s feet. He knew it was silly, as Dain couldn’t possibly comprehend the contents, but still Thorin wasn’t sure he liked him getting an eyeful of the slim volume Dr. Cox had co-written with two other therapists.

Bilbo’s session with the doctor had been a resounding success, and he had returned to the ward with what Dr. Cox deemed her ‘First Session Goodie Bag’. There were no puppets or Barbie dolls, but Thorin had had to endure fifteen minutes of furious blushing as Bilbo showed Rosie a pack of playing cards which featured fifty-two different men who were all completely naked. The pair of them had been insufferable as they made a constant stream of ‘Oos’ and ‘Aahs’, and then Bilbo had finished by complaining that the men in the deck simply weren’t ‘hairy enough’. Thorin had almost taken Dain and walked out.

He had been lured back by Bilbo’s soft, remorseful kisses on the back of his hand, but then he had been presented with the book he currently held in his lap: _Busted! 100 Myths About Sex_. However, as mortifying as the whole thing was, it had meant Bilbo simply couldn’t stop smiling, and so Thorin wasn’t going to make any real protests, and he was going to do his homework.

Eyes moving to the top of the page, he saw that he had reached Myth #27. Perhaps he had read enough for one night, plus it was getting late. Closing the book, he made sure it was well-hidden under various other bits and bobs in his bedside drawer. He then climbed out of bed, rolling his shoulders and stretching, and Dain jumped down, coming to stand at his side.

Creeping quietly out onto the landing, Thorin made his way to the bathroom to brush his teeth, but stopped when he came to Dis’ room. The door was ajar, and the grey squares of moonlight that could be seen on the wall opposite the window indicated that the curtains were still open.

Thorin knocked lightly on the door. “Dis?”

There was no answer.

Pushing the door open, Thorin peeked his head into the room. It was empty, the bed made up, not a pillow out of place. Furrowing his brow, Thorin shuffled back onto the landing. He had known his sister to work late, especially if she was up marking coursework and exercise books, but when it got to eleven she usually brought the last of a class set up to her room so she could sit and mark them in her pyjamas whilst she watched a film on her laptop.

“Shall we go and investigate?” Thorin said quietly, hand reaching out for Dain. The Labrador licked his hand in agreement.

Together, they descended the stairs and padded down the hallway to the kitchen, where light was shining through the frosted panels on the door. Carefully slipping into the room, Thorin found a pile of blue exercise books on the kitchen table, one still open in front of an empty chair, and Dis was sitting out on the back doorstep, still dressed in her work clothes.

Not wanting to scare his sister half to death, Thorin coughed to alert her to his presence. Dis still jumped and turned around, one hand pressed over her chest. The other, Thorin noted, held a nearly-extinguished cigarette.

“Thorin, love?” she said, concern quickly replacing the shock. “Are you okay?”

Thorin slowly moved past the table to the back door. “I’m fine… I was just going to bed and I saw you were still up… I was – ”

 _I was worried_ wasn’t something Thorin had ever said to Dis, and he didn’t think she would appreciate it. All things considered, she was probably as stubborn as he was when it came to her own welfare – possibly more stubborn in fact. No, if he wanted answers, Thorin would have to go about it a different way.

“Mind if I join you?” he asked, trying to sound casual.

Dis did her best to hide her look of scrutiny, but still, finding nothing untoward in her brother’s expression, she let out a sigh. “Of course.”

She moved along the step to make room for him. Dain trotted out into the garden first and then Thorin lowered himself down onto the step. He was sure Dis saw him glance at the half-drunk glass of red wine sitting at her other side, but he decided it was best not to comment.

“Want one?” Dis asked, offering him her packet of JPS.

Thorin wondered if it was the same pack from the summer – he supposed that would depend on how well her ‘one-a-month’ rule was going.

“Go on then,” he replied, reaching out and sliding a cigarette from the pack. He didn’t particularly need one at that moment, but he figured it might make Dis feel a little better.

Holding the tab between his lips, Thorin leaned forward so Dis could light it for him. He watched as she stubbed out her own cigarette on the step before popping another into her mouth.

“Quitting going well, then?” Thorin asked, exhaling a slow trail of smoke.

Dis smiled wryly around her cigarette, but didn’t reply. Smoke seeped lazily from her nostrils as she turned back towards the garden, blowing a thick, grey mist out into the night air. Continuing to study his sister, well aware that Dis knew exactly why he was sitting on the step next to her, Thorin recognised that she was a fortress. He knew that if he waited, she would be content to let them sit in silence, and he would be no closer to figuring out what was going wrong this week.

“Rough day?” he asked softly.

Dis took another drag, her gaze fixed on the oak tree barely visible in the gloom in front of them. “It was alright.”

Thorin sighed, hoping that it hadn’t actually been loud enough for Dis to hear. Was this what it was like trying to talk to him about his problems? Well, then he would just have to persevere, as Dr. Grey, and Bilbo, and Dis herself had done.

“Everything going okay at work?”

Dis lowered her cigarette, tapping ash onto the grass by her feet, some grey flakes landing on her black tights. “I got offered a job.”

Thorin raised an eyebrow, a little taken back: this wasn’t exactly what he had been expecting. “You… got offered a job?” he repeated.

“Yes,” Dis replied. “Well, it’s more of a promotion, I suppose… Cynthia wants me to take on the Deputy Headship at Blue Mountains, become her right-hand woman.”

“Oh…” Thorin was doing his best to hide his confusion. “But… that’s a good thing?”

Dis slowly exhaled a cloud of smoke, pursing her lips. Fortress.

“Do you want to take the job?” Thorin pressed, hoping Dis was going to start being helpful.

“There’re other external candidates interested in the position, but Cynthia told me the job’s mine if I want it. The interview would only be a formality.”

“Dis,” Thorin said, doing his best to hide his frustration. God, his sister really was a saint if this was what she’d put up with from him for months. “ _Do_ you want it?”

Dis finally turned to look at him. “Yes,” she said quietly.

Okay, Thorin thought, now we’re getting somewhere. So his sister had been offered a promotion, which she wanted, but there was obviously something stopping her from going for it. Sensing that asking Dis directly what this was would be a mistake, Thorin tried a different angle.

“What does it, er, entail – being Deputy Head?” he asked carefully.

“I’d step down as Head of Humanities and instead be line-managing Humanties and English,” Dis explained. “I’d also be in charge of designing our entire curriculum and implementing our new behaviour management policy.”

“Oh, er, okay,” Thorin said, not sure if he should let Dis know he understood very little of what she had just said. However, he still got the gist: the job was going to be a lot of work.

“It’s a lot more pressure, a lot more responsibility,” Dis added, demonstrating her uncanny abilities at reading her brother’s mind. “Which is a little terrifying with Ofsted practically camping out on our doorstep, but it would also mean more power to change things, more career progression, all the benefits that come with being part of SLT… and, well, a lot more money, if I’m honest.”

“Right,” Thorin said, frantically sorting through all this new information. “And, er, ‘SLT’ is…?”

“Oh, sorry, love – ‘SLT’ stands for Senior Leadership Team. So that would be Cynthia, the Head, me as Deputy Head, and our two Assistant Heads.”

Thorin stared at Dis, trying to put his finger on what was stopping her from snatching up what was clearly a very prestigious job role. He had never known his sister to shy away from a challenge, and it went without saying that she would be brilliant as her school’s Deputy Head.

“When would you start, if you took the job?” Thorin asked, deciding to back off from the obvious questions and give Dis some space.

“I’ve told Cynthia I’d want it to be a January start, so I have time to organise the reshuffle in my department,” Dis replied, leaning over to hide her second extinguished cigarette butt in the plant pot at her side. “We’ve been without a Deputy Head for a while and Cynthia did try to offer the post to me in the summer, but –”

Dis stopped dead, her lips formed a soundless ‘o’ before quickly shutting into a thin line. Thorin straightened up, feeling his heart knocking at his ribs as he reached for Dain.

“But I was being discharged?” he said, voice barely above a whisper, feeling his chest tighten as his heart increased the speed of its pummelling.

He knew there was something stopping Dis taking the promotion; he just didn’t expect the something to be him.

“Thorin…” Dis breathed, reaching a hand out towards him, but Thorin flinched away.

“You didn’t have to turn it down,” he whispered, feeling a tell-tale burn in the corners of his eyes. “I would have understood.”

“My family always comes first,” Dis replied, her expression resolute enough to hide the barest shake Thorin thought he had heard in her voice. “I needed to be there for you and if I’d taken the Deputy Headship when Cynthia first offered, I would have worked through most of the summer holidays and been away from home, away from you and Fili and Kili, and that’s not what I wanted.”

Thorin nodded, reaching up to rub a hand over his eyes. “But you can take the job now,” he said softly.

Dis looked up and her dark blue eyes were shining. “My family still needs me.”

Thorin opened his mouth to protest, but Dis spoke over him.

“I missed Fili’s calls on Tuesday because I was in a meeting, and I’d never forgive myself if I missed a call from either of you and you were in trouble, if you really needed me… I know you’re doing so much better, that Bilbo’s doing so much better, but I can’t be stuck in a governors’ audit if… if anything happens again.”

Thorin had to look away for a moment, and he sank his fingers into Dain’s fur, letting the Labrador lick his hand as he forced himself to breathe slowly. He understood Dis’ fears, but he still couldn’t let them be the reason she didn’t go for a job she really wanted, a job she so clearly deserved, not when she had done nothing but sacrifice her own life and happiness for her family for years, from the age of seventeen in fact. His sister needed to finally do something for herself and herself alone.

“And I’m worried about Kili,” Dis continued, when her brother didn’t comment. “Before we know it, Fili will be in Birmingham, and if I have to work late… if I can’t be there when he needs me…”

The mention of Fili’s impending departure to Birmingham caught Thorin off-guard. It was a year away, but still Fili would be leaving home, and he couldn’t deny that the thought made his stomach tighten. Yet, this wasn’t a good enough reason for Dis to give up an amazing opportunity.

“Dis, listen to me,” Thorin said, moving closer to his sister on the step. “Bilbo and I will take care of Kili when Fili leaves… We’ll step up as uncles: Bilbo can help him do his homework, and I’ll take him to the park and to his matches, and I’ll always makes sure he’s okay if you have to work late.”

“Thorin –”

“Bilbo and I will take care of Kili, and we’ve got Dr. Grey and Rosie and Radagast and Poppy to take care of us. Fili will always be a phone call away, and so will Balin and Dwalin.”

Dis reached up to quickly brush the tears from her eyes. “I know that, but –”

“But nothing,” Thorin said, managing a grin. “Please, Dis – you’ve done nothing but look after us all your life, and you’ve worked so hard at Blue Mountains. You need to do something for yourself, not just for other people… If you want the job, you should take it.”

Dis was staring at him with a look he couldn’t even begin to decipher, all he knew was that she was smiling… and he was hoping this was a good sign.

“You’re so different,” she murmured, and Thorin’s brow was furrowing when she added: “Good different.”

“Good as in you can tell I’ve been in therapy for the past six months?” Thorin teased, hoping it would show Dis he hadn’t been upset by her comment.

“Maybe,” Dis replied, wiping her eyes again. She then let out a long breath, shaking her shoulders to loosen the muscles there. “Okay… So, you think I should take the job?”

Thorin nodded, grinning again. “I think you should take the job.”

“Okay, right, well, that’s settled then… Okay…”

Dis suddenly picked up the wine glass she had been ignoring and took a large gulp, before pulling her phone from her pocket. She opened up her messages and then held her other hand towards Thorin. “Okay, hold my hand.”

“What?” Thorin was stunned.

“Thorin, hold my bloody hand!”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Thorin said, reaching for his sister’s hand and resisting the urge to salute.

He watched as Dis swiftly typed out a text, before putting her phone down on the step beside her. Thorin shot her a quizzical look.

“I just text Cynthia, telling her I’ll take the job.”

“Do you usually text her in the early hours of the morning?” Thorin replied, with an amused smile, although he couldn’t deny that his stomach had just done a little flip.

“Oh, you should have seen us the last time we had an Ofsted inspection – we were going through files on speakerphone at three am, it was –”

Dis’ phone vibrated.

“Want me to hold your hand?”

“No, I’ve got it.”

Dis lifted her phone and opened the text. She gave a snort and then turned her phone so Thorin could read from the screen:

_Amazing!! ‘Interview’ in my office tomorrow at 11. Now get yourself to bed young lady! C x_

“Congratulations,” Thorin said, beaming. “ _Deputy Headmistress_.”

“Oh, stop,” Dis said, smacking his arm. “You’re making me sound as if I’m sixty-five.”

Brother and sister shared a warm, quiet moment, and then Thorin spoke: “I’m really happy for you… You know you’re going to be great, right?”

“I hope so,” Dis said quietly. “And thank you… for convincing me to take it.”

“Big brother’s responsibility – making sure his little sister makes the right choices,” Thorin winked. “Which is why I think we both need to go to bed.”

Dis nodded, turning to pick up her wine glass.

“Do you need me to carry you up?” Thorin asked innocently, eyeing the wine glass.

“I think I’ll be fine.”

“I will, if you need me to: I’ll sling you over my shoulder.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

Thorin suddenly made a grab for Dis, making her lock her hands with his, and they struggled, laughing and teasing each other, as if they were children again. And, watching his sister throw back her head as she laughed, seeing her smile, feeling the happiness radiating from her, Thorin found himself very glad that he had come to find her that night, and that he had finally found his way home to her this year.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s been a lot of fun reviewing Thorin and Bilbo’s journey this chapter, even if it only serves to remind me that we are approaching the end of this tale. We’ve only got a handful of chapters left now, guys, and I can’t quite believe I’ve made it this far – to Chapter 48! – and I’d never have managed it without you wonderful people, so thank you, thank you, thank you all for continuing to support this story! :)


	49. Chapter 49

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! So, I totally meant to update last weekend, but then I ended up at a Eurovision party. Ah, the trials and tribulations of being European ;)
> 
> On a related side-note: Ered Luin definitely hosts its own Eurovision party in the dayroom. Staff and patients all get involved in a sweepstake and maybe Bilbo dragged Thorin along in the May of 2014 when they were just becoming friends. Thorin got Austria in the sweepstake. Haldir got the UK. Hmm, methinks I feel a one-shot coming on… 
> 
> Anyway, back to this chapter, where there is Bifur, there are letters, and there is more Very Important Progress. 
> 
> Warning: This update features discussion of a psychotic episode.

“So, Dis has taken the job?” Bilbo asked, eyes still intent on the chessboard between them, scanning the wooden pieces for his next move.

“Yes,” Thorin replied, before adding with a fond smile: “Fili and Kili are calling it her ‘Professor McGonagall Gig’.”

“I can imagine she’s just as formidable,” Bilbo chuckled, and then swiftly slid his rook straight into Thorin’s knight. He placed the captured piece with the growing collection on his side of the board.

Thorin frowned down at his own smaller assembly of hostaged chess pieces, the lighter wood looking almost golden in the light from the window beside the table. All his recent games had been against Kili, and so he supposed he’d got a little complacent as his nephew got to grips with the game: he’d forgotten just how ruthless Bilbo could be when a chessboard was placed between them.

Tentatively moving his bishop forward in an attempt to intimidate Bilbo’s queen, Thorin saw a wicked flicker in the younger man’s green eyes. Bollocks, he thought mildly.

Bilbo didn’t waste any time in slipping his queen beyond the bishop’s reach, straight into a direct line to Thorin’s king. “Check,” he said simply, suppressing a smile.

Thorin’s brow furrowed as his gaze searched for his king’s possible escape routes. It was then that a three light taps sounded in the silence of the room. Bilbo looked up and Thorin turned, following his gaze to find Dr. Lorien standing in the doorway. The senior doctor was looking as impeccable as ever in another fashion-forward fitted work dress, her blond hair tied up into an intricate bun with no strand out of place. She exuded her usual air of tranquil omniscience, but Thorin was unnerved to see there was also the slightest hint of distress in her light blue eyes.

“Dr. Lorien,” Bilbo greeted her with an easy smile. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

Bilbo’s charming welcome made Thorin’s heart do a feat of acrobatics that would forever be associated with the time before he had realised he was in love with him, and for a second, that feeling smothered the anxiety provoked by the doctor’s appearance.

“We have a situation,” Dr. Lorien said quietly, moving slowly into the room.

Bilbo’s expression darkened almost instantly as he replied with a careful: “Okay?”

“Bifur has had a psychotic episode,” the doctor explained. “We’re unsure as to what triggered it as he was alone with Ori at the time.”

Thorin’s heart screwed itself further into his chest, making his lungs grow tight, and he slipped his hand into Dain’s fur, the Labrador shuffling up to lean against his knees. He knew that Bifur’s episodes were few and far between – he hadn’t heard of one since he and the old soldier had first met – but he also knew that when Bifur had bad days, they were very bad. His episodes went well beyond panic and nightmares to violent and disturbing attacks of psychosis, where reality was ripped from beneath him, sometimes for hours at a time. Something bad had happened, was happening, and Thorin suspected that Dr. Lorien’s next words could be nothing good.

“His visual hallucinations appear to have ceased, but he is still very confused and very disorientated. He is under the impression that both he and Ori are in danger.”

There were deep creases of pain and worry between Bilbo’s brows. “He’s hiding somewhere with Ori?” he asked, clearly fighting to keep his voice even.

“Not quite,” came Dr. Lorien’s deceptively calm reply.

Thorin was about to get very frustrated with the cryptic nature of this obviously urgent exchange when the doctor spoke again.

“He gave up his attempts at erecting any kind of barricade fairly quickly and simply grabbed hold of Ori and moved into the corner of his room, behind his desk.”

“And he’s not letting Ori go?” Bilbo murmured, this realisation bringing a troubled spark of grey to his eyes.

Dr. Lorien slowly shook her head. “He believes he is protecting him, and he is refusing to let us take Ori from him.”

Thorin suddenly felt the phantom weight of an unconscious Bilbo clutched against his chest, and before his mind had caught up with his mouth, he found himself speaking out loud: “Is Ori alright…? I mean, has it triggered him?”

“He is doing far better than we could have ever anticipated given the situation,” Dr. Lorien said, turning her blue gaze on Thorin. “However, he is clearly very frightened. We are doing our best to keep him calm.”

“But you can’t persuade Bifur to let him go?” Bilbo’s expression was set and stony.

“Our attempts at persuading him of their safety have failed, but Dr. Grey is determined to avoid the use of force.”

Bilbo let out a slow breath. “So you need a negotiator?”

Dr. Lorien dipped her head in confirmation.

And then, to Thorin’s surprise, Bilbo slipped into Sign Language. It was too quick for him to follow properly, but he could still pick up on the fact that Bilbo was asking questions. Dr. Lorien replied with her own graceful hand movements, and Thorin figured it shouldn’t surprise him that, being Bifur’s doctor, she should be able to Sign. Surely sessions would be a little difficult if this wasn’t the case.

Thorin was able to pick up on Ori’s sign name – also the sign for ‘gloves’ in a nod to Ori’s omnipresent knitted mittens – and Bifur’s sign name which, intriguingly, was signed by running one finger down your forehead in the same place as his scar. It seemed Bifur had embraced his injury to the point of allowing himself to be named after it… The thought made Thorin’s hand twitch towards the left side of his head where his own scar lay nestled in the lengthening strands of dark hair.

When Bilbo lowered his hands, Thorin gave him a questioning glance. He didn’t resent Bilbo and the doctor for excluding him from the conversation, he just hoped the use of Sign Language wasn’t an attempt to protect him from the finer details of the situation, even if they were potentially very upsetting.

“It’s been almost an hour since Bifur was first triggered,” Bilbo explained softly. “Gandalf has been doing everything to avoid me getting involved… I’m guessing he thinks I might be a little too vulnerable, because of this week.”

Thorin reached a hand across the table, fingers gently closing around Bilbo’s. “If you don’t feel up to it,” he whispered. “If it’s going to upset you, I can go… I’ll try and help.”

Bilbo smiled, and it was a beautiful smile. He lifted their joined hands and kissed Thorin’s knuckles. “How about we both go?”

Thorin nodded. “Of course.”

Bilbo dropped their hands as they both rose to their feet. Thorin collected Dain’s lead and looped it around his wrist. They followed Dr. Lorien from the room and as they headed towards the corridor which led to Bifur’s room, Bilbo slipped his hand into Thorin’s, giving it a reassuring squeeze. Despite the unpleasant situation they were about to confront, despite the pain and worry they both felt for their friends, Thorin smiled and squeezed back, glad that this was something they were going to face together.

“Do you know what might have triggered the episode?” he asked quietly, as they turned the corner, Bifur’s doorway looming on the right-hand side.

Bilbo gave a soft sigh. “I’m not sure… Bifur fought in Bosnia: he’s seen a lot of things which still haunt him, although Ori’s involvement makes me think it could be the death of a young Serbian soldier he’s reliving.”

Thorin swallowed. He had been part of the Yugoslav wars, fighting in Kosovo a few years after the Bosnian War ended in 1995. With a jolt, he realised that if this was the conflict that had led to Bifur’s arrival at Ered Luin, the older man must have been on the ward for almost twenty years. Each heartbeat became aching and raw inside his chest as he tried to imagine what it must have been like for Bifur to spend two decades of his life in the hospital.

Bilbo seemed oblivious to Thorin’s thought processes and continued: “The soldier was only sixteen. He died in Bifur’s arms. Seconds later, Bifur was almost killed in the explosion that gave him his scar.”

“Jesus,” Thorin muttered, and the look of sadness in Bilbo’s eyes seemed to agree with the sentiment.

They slowed as they approached Bifur’s door which was only slightly ajar and guarded by a nurse Thorin didn’t recognise.

Dr. Lorien turned to address them. “We’ll need to enter one by one,” she stated, caution creeping into her tone as she added: “Slowly and silently, no sudden movements.”

Thorin and Bilbo both nodded their understanding. Dr. Lorien pushed open the door and smoothly moved into the room, as if she were actually floating. Bilbo followed and then Thorin and Dain brought up the rear, the Labrador’s claws making a light clack on the linoleum floor.

This was the first time Thorin had ever been in Bifur’s room. It was considerably larger than Bilbo’s, and although Bilbo’s room was crammed to the corners with a protective layer of books, and was full of things that made the room undeniably his, Bifur’s room looked far more lived in… a more permanent residence. The bed, which was positioned at the room’s centre, was piled high with hand-made blankets. There wasn’t a thread of blue or white hospital cotton in sight. Even the pillows were patterned with hand-stitching. The dark wooden furniture – and there was plenty of it – spoke of a sawdust-scented workshop, not the lighter, disinfected air of regulation hospital tables and chairs.

It seemed impossible, but there were also more shelves than in Bilbo’s room, holding an array of colourfully bound books. The difference between these bookcases and Bilbo’s was the prevalence of personal items: whittled figures, and glass paperweights, and hand-painted model aircraft, and two dozen photographs in assorted frames bearing the images of Bifur’s family: Bofur and Bombur, their partners, and Bombur’s very large brood of children. Thorin recognised some of the red-haired teenagers he had seen visiting Bifur in the dayroom.

Dr. Grey and Rosie greeted them just beyond the door, but Thorin’s eyes were already searching for his friends amongst the sea of furniture. It was Ori’s sharp intake of breath that dragged Thorin’s gaze to the opposite corner of the room where, sure enough, Bifur was crouching in the small space between his desk and the wall. He had his arms wrapped around Ori in a clearly protective embrace, but the teenager’s face was drained of colour, his eyes wide and tearful, and even from across the room, Thorin could see that his whole body was trembling.

Thorin then turned his attentions to Bifur, and his throat closed up. He had never seen the old soldier looking anything but insouciant and cheerful, yet now there was a dark, distrustful look in his eyes, which were trained on Bilbo. His hunched body language and tense expression radiated feelings of hostility, and he clearly felt threatened by their presence in the room. This was not the Bifur Thorin knew, and he just hoped that he and Bilbo would be enough to bring the true Bifur back to himself.

For a long time, nobody spoke, but then Dr. Grey broke the silence, turning towards Bilbo, his voice lowered: “The floor is yours, Bilbo.”

Bilbo’s eyes hadn’t left Bifur since they entered the room, but now he lifted his green gaze to Thorin as he slowly relinquished his hand. Thorin felt a pang at the loss, but he still offered a soft smile of encouragement as he let Bilbo move away from him, into the open space between Bifur’s bed and the corner he now occupied. Bilbo seemed somehow exposed and vulnerable, distanced as he was from their group by the door: a lone figured trying to cross the breach between Bifur and his return to the world of the ward. Thorin felt his heart clambering up into his throat, but he knew he had to trust that Bilbo could do this, that Bilbo needed to do this.

Nothing happened for a few drawn-out moments and Thorin heard his heart give a few hard thumps in his ears, but then Bilbo began to Sign. His conversations with Bifur were usually conducted using animated, speedy hand movements and the difference now was quite startling. Bilbo had once told Thorin that Sign Language could convey tone and accent, as well as the words being spoken, and Thorin could see now through Bilbo’s slow and deliberate gestures that his silent voice was calm and reassuring.

Bifur’s eyes followed Bilbo’s hands, his expression shrewd but still blackened by his disorientation and doubt, as if he was searching for an ulterior motive. Thorin was struggling to follow Bilbo’s signing, despite its slow speed, although he was sure he caught his own sign name being used as Bilbo’s thumb and index finger ran over his chin, tracing a non-existent beard.

Bilbo kept pausing, allowing Bifur the time to respond, but the older man remained still and wary, arms tightly wrapped around Ori, who was drawing in increasingly shorter and shaky breaths, despite the reassurances Bilbo was murmuring, interspersed with his signed exchanges. Thorin was amazed that the teenager hadn’t lost himself to a panic attack yet, but now he sensed that their time might be running out and Ori was starting to twitch against Bifur’s constricting hold.

Suddenly the arm was lifted slightly: Bifur returned a few hurried signs and their tone clearly conveyed his anger and his confusion. Thorin knew Bifur had made the sign for the letter ‘B’, which they sometimes used as Bilbo’s sign name instead of the bunny ears for ‘Little Bunny’.

“Bilbo?” Dr. Grey asked gently, studying him over his glasses.

Bilbo turned and his face had grown pale. “He doesn’t believe I am who I say I am: he thinks I’m an imposter, someone pretending to be me.”

Dr. Grey looked to Dr. Lorien with a frown, the two seeming to have a silent exchange of their own about this new predicament.

“Is it because you’re not wearing your hoodie?” Thorin ventured, surprising himself as he spoke up. His voice was a little tentative, but still clear. “I mean, Bifur’s so used to seeing you in it… If his mind’s regressed at all with the psychotic episode, he won’t recognise you.”

“Very true, Thorin,” Dr. Grey said, with a warm smile, and Bilbo also nodded his agreement.

“I, er… I could go and get it for you?” Thorin suggested, emboldened by their positive responses.

Bilbo’s expression became thoughtful, but then he looked from Bifur back to Thorin. “Thank you, love, but I’m not entirely sure it’ll work… Bifur’s listening to this conversation and I think he might see the hoodie as a trick, like dressing me up as Bilbo.”

Thorin’s thoughts immediately jumped to their conversation a few nights ago about Bilbo’s hoodie being nothing but a pretence and a knot tightened in his stomach. “Okay.”

“Do you have an alternative, Bilbo?” Dr. Grey murmured, although he seemed to already know the answer.

“Yes,” Bilbo replied. “And I do apologise for this… I hope you all know I’m not in the habit of stripping in the middle of a room full of people.”

There were a few gentle laughs and Rosie’s smirk clearly said: ‘That’s not what I heard’. Despite the humour, Thorin’s stomach clenched again, unsure what it was Bilbo was intending to do or why. His eyes returning to Bifur, Bilbo began to shrug the dark red cardigan from his shoulders. He pulled his arms from the sleeves and carefully folded it, placing it on the bed behind him. When he reached up to unbutton his shirt, everything clicked into place in Thorin’s mind. He was going to show Bifur the parts of him that couldn’t be slipped on and off like a hoodie.

Bilbo finished unbuttoning his shirt and removed it with the same slow care, revealing his scarred torso. Bilbo’s face held a mask of indifference, but there was still a betraying spark of pain in his eyes as he took a step forward, arms held out so Bifur could see the angry purple lines dug into his wrists which were clouded with light grey bruises. Bilbo was still raw from his own wounds, but he was determined to keep going, to keep on saving people. He lowered himself down onto his knees, making himself seem smaller, less threatening than before. In this position he could be praying, or asking forgiveness.

Bifur’s eyes widened as they travelled over the scars that covered Bilbo’s body, and then Thorin saw it: the flicker of recognition. The older man’s posture lost some of its rigidity and his arms seemed to loosen their hold on Ori, who took the opportunity to draw in a deep, shuddering breath. The young soldier’s eyes were also wide with shock and pain as he took in Bilbo’s many – far too many – emblems of past hurt, and Thorin didn’t miss the tear that dribbled down Ori’s pale cheek.

Bilbo lifted his hands again and began a series of slow, emotional signs and Thorin gathered that he was entreating Bifur to believe that he truly was the real Bilbo. It was eerily mesmerising to watch, but Thorin saw Bifur transform before his eyes: his gaze lost all its darkness and doubt, only to be replaced by a spark of understanding which wasn’t dampened by the obvious exhaustion which rushed into to replace the hostility.

Thorin heard Dr. Grey and Dr. Lorien move behind him and the doctors drifted closer to the other side of the room. They drew Bifur’s gaze – which until that point had been fixed intently on Bilbo – and the older man’s arm moved to pull Ori against his chest again, making the teenager let out a startled whimper. Thorin didn’t miss the flash of annoyance in Bilbo’s eyes as he turned to look at the approaching doctors.

“Bifur has agreed to let Ori go, but only if he feels he’s going to be safe,” Bilbo explained, trying to keep his tone free of frustration. “Unfortunately, he’s not got the best impression of hospital staff at the moment…”

Thorin tensed, knowing what was coming.

“… Thorin, would you be able come forward, just so Bifur can see that Ori is going to come to you first?”

Thorin swallowed, shuffling closer to Bilbo. “O-of course… What do you need me to do?”

“Could you come and stand in front of Dr. Grey, just by the desk?” Bilbo replied, pointing to indicate the proposed spot.

Thorin was desperate to help, but he was also desperate not to fuck this up. He looked to Bilbo, blue eyes full of worry, and Bilbo’s answering smile, full of warmth and affection, eased the knot of anxiety in his stomach. He got into position, Dain moving with him, and came to stand in front of the doctors.

Bilbo was signing again and this time Thorin definitely recognised his sign-name, along with the sign for ‘safe’. He then spoke to Ori: “When Bifur lets you go, Ori, you just come and stand by Thorin… is that okay?”

Ori’s lips moved in an attempt to form an audible reply, his adam’s apple bobbing as he tried to force the sounds from his throat, but after this became frustrating and futile he settled for a shaky nod.

Bilbo offered the teenager a small smile of encouragement, before speaking softly but firmly: “You’re going to be alright, I promise.”

Bilbo’s attentions returned to Bifur and he was obviously giving the old soldier his own assurances. When Bilbo lowered his hands, the whole room fell into waiting, no one daring to let out a single breath, and then Bifur’s arms slowly, hesitantly relinquished their hold. Ori waited for a few moments, sucking in a panicked breath as his eyes darted dazedly around the room, but then Bilbo gave the whispered encouragement: “To Thorin, Ori.”

Hearing his name, Thorin looked to Ori and supported Bilbo’s prompt by extending his hand, palm open, to the young soldier.

Finally, Ori dragged himself to his feet and staggered towards Thorin with a clumsy, new born quality that had Thorin pre-empting what happened next. Ori fell, but Thorin rushed forward and caught him before his knees hit the floor. He lowered them both down as gently as possible as Dr. Grey came to his side. Conscious of the fact that Ori had just spent an hour trapped in Bifur’s arms, Thorin tried to keep his touching of him to a minimum, but then the teenager was turning and burying his face into his chest as he let out a sob, his hands clutching hold of Thorin’s shirt.

“Hey, shhh… You’re okay, you’re okay,” Thorin whispered, making soft shushing sounds as his hands tentatively came to rest on Ori’s back.

“I-I-It’s… n-not… his… f-f-f-fault,” Ori choked out, his words forced past another sob, and Thorin felt his own eyes begin to sting.

“We know,” Thorin said gently, rubbing a hand over Ori’s arm. “We know that.”

The teenager seemed to want to say more, but then he decided to switch his efforts to focusing on controlling his breathing. Out of the corner of his eye, Thorin caught Dr. Grey smiling: it was the smile he had seen before, whenever a patient put something they had learnt in sessions into practice.

“Would you like to give Dain a hug?” Thorin suggested, after a while, knowing how fond Ori was of the Labrador.

Dain had lowered himself onto the floor at Thorin’s side and his dark brown gaze had been moving between Ori and his partner with concern. Ori lifted his face from Thorin’s chest.

“It always helps me when I’m upset,” Thorin said softly, reaching a hand out to scratch Dain’s ears.

Ori drew in a shaky breath and then nodded.

“Okay… Dain, come say hello to Ori,” Thorin urged, and the Labrador got to his feet, tail wagging as he began to pant with excitement.

Ori’s expression instantly brightened as he reached his hands out towards Dain and then the Labrador let himself be pulled into a hug, tail slapping Thorin’s knee as he licked Ori’s cheek.

Thorin watched the pair for a few moments before daring to look back towards the corner of the room. Bifur hadn’t moved, but he was now joined by Bilbo, who was sitting at his side in Ori’s place. Dr. Lorien and Rosie had lowered themselves onto the floor and were sitting by Bifur’s bed, at a safe distance, but still preparing for an approach. The two men were exchanging short, slow signs, both their expressions pained and tired, but with Bifur no longer appearing agitated or distrustful. As difficult as it was to witness, Thorin knew he and Bilbo had done what they set out to do: they had brought Bifur back, and Ori along with him. They made quite the team really, now that they had become experts at removing their own obstacles.

It was a long time before Bilbo realised he was being watched, but eventually his green eyes found Thorin’s and they exchanged a smile that once again made Thorin’s heart do a gold-medal winning routine… and then Bilbo was signing ‘I love you’. Unable to lift his hands clear of Ori and Dain, he simply mouthed back: ‘I love you too’.

 

…

 

“Ah, Thorin!” Radagast greeted him with his usual cheer as Thorin arrived at the nurses’ station to sign in. “Bilbo isn’t actually back in his room yet,” the nurse explained, handing Thorin the sign-in sheet.

Thorin’s fingers stilled around the pen clipped to the sheet. “Is everything alright?” he asked carefully, feeling his heart give his ribs a few good punches. Bilbo should have finished his session with Dr. Grey over an hour ago.

“Oh yes, they’re making an awful lot of headway this afternoon and Dr. Grey wanted to take advantage of that,” Radagast said, beaming. “But if you want to wait in Bilbo’s room? I’m sure they won’t be long now.”

Thorin nodded, finishing his name in a scribble. Radagast followed him to Bilbo’s room, watching as he and Dain took a seat by the window.

“Can I get you anything? Tea? Coffee?” the nurse asked, with a kind smile.

The request momentarily catapulted Thorin’s mind back to early summer, when Radagast had oh-so-frequently popped his head into either his or Bilbo’s room for their routine check, offering them assorted beverages and biscuits. It was difficult to think on how much had changed since then, but Thorin reminded himself that it was now changing for the better.

“No, thank you,” he replied. There was a moment of quiet before Thorin spoke again: “How’s Bifur doing?”

“Oh, he’s doing very well, much more settled than yesterday,” Radagast said, expression open and bright. “Bofur stayed over with us last night and Bombur is bringing his eldest in today to see him.”

Thorin managed a smile at the news. “And Ori?” he murmured, a little more tentatively. He knew Dori hadn’t been best pleased about the events of two days ago, but Nori and Dr. Grey had been talking him round.

“Ah, also doing very well,” Radagast assured him. “And speaking very highly of you, I might add.”

Thorin really tried very hard to pretend Radagast hadn’t just winked at him. “Oh… er, right.”

As if sensing he might need saving, Poppy appeared in the doorway. “Dr. Grey’s just rung through, Thorin,” she said, smiling. “Bilbo would like you to join him in his session.”

His heart was punching his ribs again, but Thorin still got to his feet and went to follow Poppy. The nurse led him down the corridor to Dr. Grey’s office before leaving him with a brief squeeze of his arm. Pausing outside the door, it took Thorin a moment to reach out an uncertain hand and show himself into the room.

Dr. Grey and Bilbo were sitting in the leather armchairs by the window and, as if anticipating his arrival, a stool – definitely resembling a bar stool, but Thorin decided not to ask – had been placed at Bilbo’s side. Bilbo looked up and his eyes were bloodshot and teary, but still he gave Thorin a wide smile as he came to join them.

“Hello,” Thorin said quietly, one hand going to Bilbo’s shoulder as he pressed a kiss to his temple.

“Hello,” Bilbo whispered back, leaning in to Thorin’s touch. “Sorry we’re running over.”

“That’s okay.”

Thorin’s eyes moved to the table and felt his heart jolt when he found a sea of paper spread out before them. He was confronted with a congregation of unfolded letters and their envelopes, the table covered in a mural of various shades of white, dotted with colourful postmarks and stamps, with the occasional photograph peeking through the origami-like mass. He raised an eyebrow and looked back at Bilbo.

“They’re letters, from the families of the men who served in my unit,” Bilbo said, and his voice held a wave of emotion behind it. “I… I knew they existed, that they’d been sent here, but I didn’t want to read them… I didn’t think I ever would.”

“But now you have?” Thorin said, feeling a lump growing in his throat as he slipped his arm around Bilbo’s back. His gaze moved over all the unanswered letters, blinking quickly as he took in all the different handwriting, not daring to try and read the words until he was given permission to do so.

“S-some of them are from three years ago,” Bilbo explained, fingers tentatively tracing the letter closest to him, doing so with such care, as if it had once belonged to a saint. “From when people had first heard about my being admitted here… Others are more recent… Some of them are still writing to me, after all this time.”

Thorin swallowed as his throat began to burn. “What do they say?” he asked softly, hoping this wasn’t an unwanted question.

Bilbo leaned forward and pulled what appeared to be a Christmas card out from under the pile. There was an elaborate Victorian design on the front: a scene that could have been from a snow globe, and there was still a little silver glitter left on the card.

“This is from the mother of Corporal Noakes,” he said, holding the card out to him. “She’s sent me a Christmas card every year since I was admitted… This is from last Christmas.”

Thorin took the card and held it with the same reverence shown by Bilbo. “May I…?”

Bilbo nodded, his eyes beginning to shine. “Of course.”

Opening the card, Thorin found a message in neat, looping handwriting:

 

_Dear Captain Baggins,_

_I hope this card finds you warm and well looked-after this winter. In a few days I shall be making my usual journey to Epsom to spend the holidays with my daughter. I’m told we will be going to a carol service in Nonsuch Park, which, incidentally, is where Ryan first told me he had been accepted into your unit. Please know that I still treasure that memory dearly, and will do until the day God takes me to join my boy in heaven._

_Merry Christmas, Captain. As always you are in my prayers, and I hope that next Christmas I shall be told that my card has been forwarded to your home in Sussex and that you are well and happy._

_You’ll find my home address on the back of the envelope._

_All my love,_

_Maureen Noakes xx_

 

Thorin took a moment to re-read the card before slowly lowering it into his lap. He stretched out one hand to Bilbo’s and squeezed his fingers. As difficult as the words of Corporal Noakes’ mother were to read, he was overwhelmed by their sincerity, their desire to see Bilbo well again. There was no blame, no anger: only an obvious sadness at Bilbo’s prolonged stay in hospital.

Thorin handed the card back to Bilbo and he slotted it into its place in the pile. There were a few quiet moments in which Bilbo’s eyes moved over the collection of letters before his gaze settled on a snapshot which Thorin belatedly recognised to be an official wedding photo. He carefully slid it from the pile and held it out for Thorin. The bride was a beautiful young woman, her dark hair braided with white flowers beneath her veil. Her husband had the same flower in his lapel.

“Annabelle Bracegirdle, now Annabelle Whitfoot: she was married to Private Linden Bracegirdle – the youngest member of my unit. She got remarried this summer.”

Thorin smiled down at the photograph, and the newly remarried Annabelle Whitfoot smiled back, her hazel eyes full of genuine happiness and love. It was then that Thorin realised just how recently this photograph must have arrived at Ered Luin.

“She’s written me a few letters,” Bilbo murmured. “Telling me about her and Linden’s son, how they’re doing well, they’re happy… that her new husband adores them both. She, er, also sent a wedding invite… It’s strange really, but I feel I should’ve RSVP’d.”

Thorin nodded, handing the photo back to Bilbo. “Will you write to her?” he asked carefully. He knew it would be a difficult thing, to reply to letters such as these, but he hoped this crisp blanket of paper that was three years’ worth of correspondence had shown Bilbo that the families of his unit bore him no reproach, no ill-intentions… that they had been able to move on with their own lives, that this was what they wished for him too.

“I think so,” Bilbo said, the slightest wobble appearing in his voice as his eyes moved back to the letters. “I… I’d like to write back to all of them… It’s been… such a long time since some of these letters were written: they deserve an answer.”

Thorin took Bilbo’s hand in both his own, smoothing his thumb over Bilbo’s knuckles. “I know they’ll really appreciate hearing from you.”

Bilbo nodded, blinking back tears. He leaned forward and Thorin dipped his forehead to meet Bilbo’s, so that he could feel the younger man’s breath brushing his lips. They stayed like this for some time, Thorin feeling Bilbo sagging a little with obvious exhaustion. He knew opening all these letters must have taken a lot out of him, no doubt leaving him feeling very drained, as great progress was always wont to do. He was about to suggest getting Bilbo back to bed when the younger man spoke again, his voice slightly hoarse.

“There are letters from Hamfast’s son.”

Thorin slowly pulled away and Bilbo straightened up, his expression looking almost fearful. Feeling his throat tighten again, Thorin asked: “Have you read them?”

Bilbo shook his head. “I… I don’t know if I can.”

Thorin squeezed Bilbo’s hand. “You’re tired… Maybe you should wait until tomorrow?”

Bilbo’s brow furrowed as he seemed to think this over, but then his eyes moved to Dr. Grey, who had been uncharacteristically silent for the entire exchange. “I… I’m worried that if I don’t read them now, I never will… I’d rather not prolong this.”

“I think you will feel much better after you have read them,” Dr. Grey stated calmly. “You have done exceptionally well today, Bilbo, and I believe finishing with Mr. Samwise Gamgee’s correspondence will cement this success.”

Thorin was still concerned that Bilbo might be pushing himself too much, but, equally, he knew the alternative was having Bilbo lying awake that night, plagued by thoughts of what the unopened letters might contain. Those thoughts alone could just as easily trigger an episode.

“Okay,” Bilbo whispered, his cheeks growing a little paler. “Okay.”

Thorin felt his heart begin a steady thud in his ears as Dr. Grey turned to retrieve the last wad of letters from his desk. There appeared to be around three or four in total, all in matching A5 envelopes. The doctor handed the top letter to Bilbo and Thorin’s eyes moved to the Bristol postmark, dated 2011.

Inhaling deeply, Bilbo’s fingers moved to tear open the envelope. It wasn’t long, however, before he stopped, turning teary eyes on Thorin. “I… my hands…” He held them up, to demonstrate the tremble in his fingers.

“Let me,” Thorin said quietly, and Bilbo gratefully handed him the letter.

He opened the envelope with a quick slice of his thumb, but then held onto it for longer than was probably necessary. If Thorin was honest, the letter scared him. He held in his hands something which had the potential to either hurt or heal, and as he wasn’t sure which one it would be, he was, admittedly, quite reluctant to deliver it back into Bilbo’s hands.  

“Thorin?” Bilbo murmured, his fingers touching Thorin’s wrist.

Thorin looked up, coughing nervously. “Sorry… Sorry, here.” He held out the letter, allowing Bilbo to take it.

Hearing his heartbeat once again thumping in his ears in a terrible drumroll, Thorin swallowed as his throat grew tighter, his stomach manically knotting itself. Bilbo slowly slipped the letter – written on lined cream paper – from the envelope, unfolded it, and began to read.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh god, I’m at it again! Sorry folks, but there will be another update next weekend, promise!
> 
> P.S. Many thanks to the lovely LadyLaran for drawing the comparisons between Dis and Professor McGonagall :)


	50. Chapter 50

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my, I can’t believe ‘Obstacles’ has actually reached fifty chapters! Only six or seven more to go now… 
> 
> And here is a haiku, entitled ‘Chapter 50’, made from the notes for this update:
> 
> Awkward flower talk  
> Rosie, please stop being meta  
> Everyone’s crying

_Long Ashton, Somerset                     July 2011_

_Dear Captain Baggins,_

_I hope the flowers survived their journey to ~~y~~ Yorkshire and reached you with not a petal out of place. The Star-of-Bethlehem is a bestseller at Mr. Bolger’s shop and seen as I’ve been working there for a year now he let me have first pick. The peonies come from my own garden (which is doing very well this summer!) and I hope you understand I don’t mean no offence, sir, when I say I figured your room up in Leeds might be needing some colour. _

_I’ve also sent you some packets of seeds from the shop (begonia, sunflower and marigold) as Dad always said you and I have green fingers in common. He told me you spent most of your leave in your garden so I hope you’ll be able to do some planting when you get back home. ~~Or maybe the hospital~~ Or maybe the hospital will let you do some gardening (what with it being so nice outside at the moment) but I’ll admit I don’t know much about these things. _

_If I’m honest, sir, I’m not sure if you’re wanting to hear from me or from ~~anyone~~ any of the unit’s families but you was always so kind in organising those picnics and BBQs when everyone was back on leave that I’m hoping this letter isn’t unwelcome. I understand if you’re needing your own time to grieve and to heal, but I got the hospital’s address from a few people at the memorial service who said they’d already sent you letters and cards and I know Dad would want me to write to you. _

_I never have been good with words, not like you and Dad and Mum, God rest her soul, and I have to tell you I’m struggling to put it down on paper what it is I really need to say. (Sorry for all the crossing out. I think this is why I’ve sent you flowers - because they say what I want to say so much better than this letter.)_

_My dad loved you, Captain Baggins, I really hope you know that. He had so much respect for you not just as his captain but also as his best friend. You were always the hero of his stories. And like me he never forgot everything you did for us when Mum died._

_~~I want to tell you~~ _ _I’m hoping you’ll forgive my bluntness when I say I don’t blame you for Dad’s death. I’m worried you might be thinking it and I don’t want you fretting up there in Yorkshire when you should be getting yourself better. Dad knew how dangerous things were getting with your third tour and he was ready to do what he had to for his country and for you._

_I’ve written my address and my telephone number on the back of this letter and I trust that when you’re ready you’ll let me know if the flowers reached you safely._

_I really do wish you all the best for your recovery and I hope you’ll be planting sunflowers in your garden before the summer is out._

_Kindest regards,_

_Samwise Gamgee_

 

Thorin’s eyes slowly moved back to the top of the letter, and he could feel Bilbo’s gaze on him, trying to assess his reaction. There was a tightening knot in his stomach which juddered as he re-read the final lines of Samwise’s heartfelt letter. It held the same sincerity and warmth as Mauren Noakes’ Christmas card, but somehow this correspondence was all the more heart-wrenching as the young Samwise struggled to say what it was he so desperately needed to say. His admiration, his respect, for Bilbo flowed from the page, but this only made the knot give a sickly twist as Thorin’s eyes slid across to Bilbo, whose pained expression clearly communicated that he didn’t think himself deserving of either.

Bilbo continued to study him as he turned, and his grey-green eyes were glassy, cheeks still pale. Thorin wanted to reach out and touch his shoulder, take his hand, but he wasn’t entirely certain if this contact would be welcome. And so he was left frantically grappling for something to say, for something to make this better.

“The flowers…?” he murmured, after another strained moment, unsure of what question he was really asking.

“I don’t know,” Bilbo replied, his voice sounding entirely too hollow for Thorin’s liking. “I refused to accept any correspondence from the families of my unit, so I don’t know what happened to them.”

The younger man’s eyes then slipped over to Dr. Grey, still sitting opposite them, and the doctor’s small smile made Thorin hold in a breath.

“The bouquet was a beautiful arrangement,” Dr. Grey said quietly. “And it didn’t go to waste.”

Thorin exhaled. He was glad Samwise’s flowers hadn’t been left to wilt in the dark somewhere, unwanted and forgotten.

“You put them in another patient’s room?” Bilbo asked carefully.

“No, I put them in this very office. They were in a vase on the window sill for at least two of our sessions.”

Bilbo’s eyes widened, his gaze flicking to the empty sill at his side. It then shifted to the window panes, and Thorin was sure he could see Bilbo mentally rewinding over three years of sessions, sifting through memories, looking for a rosey image of peonies and Star-of-Bethlehem gathered together in a shaft of sunlight from the window.

“I also took the liberty of hanging onto the packets of seeds sent by Mr. Gamgee. They are currently in a drawer of my desk – still very much within date – should you wish to do anything with them.”

Bilbo slowly turned back to Dr. Grey, wearing a slight frown which made Thorin’s chest tighten. He couldn’t imagine what was really going through Bilbo’s mind at that moment, but he was still disconcerted by his pained reactions to Samwise’s letter, by the tell-tale signs of self-doubt and guilt creeping back into his expression. This was meant to be an afternoon of progress – Bilbo had come so far in only a few hours – and he didn’t want anything to undermine the very positive steps he had taken.

“Bilbo,” Thorin said gently, taking his hand, still holding the letter in the other. “Samwise says he doesn’t blame you, it’s written here… plain as day.”

Bilbo’s fingers twitched beneath his, and for a horrible moment Thorin thought he was going to pull his hand away, but then Bilbo only let out a controlled breath, turning to him, the look in his eyes agonisingly bleak.

“He doesn’t blame me because he doesn’t know the truth,” Bilbo whispered. “He doesn’t blame me because he doesn’t know I killed his father, that I’m the one who pulled the trigger… that I’m the reason his dad is dead.”

Thorin swallowed, a now-familiar ache flexing its claws inside his chest. The shame had well and truly returned to Bilbo’s expression, and he hated that they seemed to be taking several steps back from the moment Bilbo had revealed Hamfast’s fate in almost this exact spot.

“I still don’t think he’ll blame you,” Thorin said, the barest tremble sneaking into his voice as he rubbed his thumb over Bilbo’s knuckles.

Bilbo looked away and for a terrifyingly drawn-out moment, Thorin was afraid that he might have lost him. But then Bilbo turned back, eyes moving to the letter.

“Can I…?”

“Oh… Of course.”

Thorin handed the letter over, secretly relieved that Bilbo still hadn’t let go of his hand. He watched as Bilbo flipped over the paper and, as promised, Samwise Gamgee’s address and phone number were written in the top corner.

It took another few moments, but then Bilbo was looking across the sea of letters to Dr. Grey. “I… I’d like to speak to Sam,” he said, clearly fighting to keep his voice from shaking. “God knows the poor boy’s been waiting long enough to hear something back. Do… you think you’d be able to get in contact with him for me?”

 

…

 

Thorin awoke mid-snore, the very unattractive snort partly muffled by the pillow as he turned, still half-asleep, onto his side. He coughed to clear his throat and then sighed, left hand sneaking across the sheets to find Bilbo.

This wasn’t the first time his fingers had slid across the mattress in a futile search and Thorin’s eyes shot open.

Bilbo was gone from the bed, but Thorin was spared any encroaching panic as his blurry eyes settled on the chair by the window, where Bilbo sat, a letter clutched in his hand. Dain had moved from his usual place in the corner and was now curled up and sleeping at Bilbo’s feet. The room was dark, dawn still being hours away, but he seemed to be managing to read by the pale light of the moon which was looming over his shoulder, but still trapped behind the thin slats of the blinds.

Everything had moved very quickly after Bilbo’s request that they contact Sam. Only hours later, he had been reached using the telephone number on the back of the letter and, although Thorin had been absent for Dr. Grey’s phone call, he understood that Sam had been quite overcome with emotion at hearing that Bilbo was finally ready to speak about his father, about what had happened.

Bilbo and the doctor both agreed that this discussion was one that needed to occur in person, not over the phone, and so in a whirlwind of further phone calls, Sam’s journey up from Bristol had been arranged. He was due to arrive into Leeds train station at ten o’ clock that morning.

Propping himself up on his elbow, Thorin quietly cleared his throat. “Love? Are you okay?”

Bilbo’s fingers flinched around the letter as his head shot up, eyes darting in the direction of his bed. “Thorin…” He sounded a little breathless. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t,” Thorin replied softly, sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

At Thorin’s voice, Dain’s ears twitched and he lifted his head, eyes bright in the dark as he looked expectantly towards his partner.

“Oh, you don’t need to get up, love,” Bilbo whispered, seeming a little stricken, dropping the letter back onto the table. “Please… go back to sleep, I’ll join you soon.”

Suspecting Bilbo didn’t actually have any intentions of coming back to bed, Thorin ignored his protests and slipped his bare feet onto the cold floor. He padded over to the chair and lowered himself onto its arm: it wasn’t the most comfortable of positions, but the proximity was better than sitting across the table from Bilbo in the other chair. After giving Dain’s ears a quick, reassuring scratch, Thorin’s hand came to rest on Bilbo’s back, thumb rubbing over the skin at the bottom of his neck.

“Have you managed to get any sleep?” he murmured, pressing a kiss into Bilbo’s curls.

“Er… No, not really,” Bilbo replied, a little guiltily, although he did lean into Thorin’s touch.

Thorin guessed Bilbo had very probably waited for him to drop off to sleep and then climbed out of bed to begin his moonlit letter-reading vigil. “You should have woken me,” he said, resting their heads together, eyes travelling over the three letters laid out on the table in front of them.

Sam had written twice more after his first missive had gone unanswered. These later letters didn’t mention anything about what had happened to Hamfast, and Sam had only sought to update Bilbo on his life in Long Ashton and the goings on of Mr. Bolger’s flower shop, of which he was now deputy manager.

“I didn’t want to disturb you,” Bilbo said, hand coming to rest on Thorin’s knee. “You only snore when you’re exhausted.”

Thorin had never noticed this about himself, and he couldn’t help but smile when he remembered Bilbo telling him his snoring was ‘cute’ and ‘like a hibernating bear’, and a little warmth blossomed in his chest.

“What are you smiling about?” Bilbo asked, giving him a nudge, with the beginnings of a grin lighting up his face.

“You think it’s cute when I snore,” Thorin stated, seeming quite proud of this fact.

“I do,” Bilbo agreed. “Although some of the sounds you were making tonight were quite scary… Little bit demonic in fact.”

Thorin shifted on the chair’s arm – trying and failing to make himself more comfortable without losing his balance – and he was about to make a snarky reply when Bilbo’s frown stopped him.

“Thorin, please, get back into bed,” he said, obviously concerned about his precarious position on the chair’s arm.

Thorin’s hand brushed over his fingers. “Will you come with me?”

“Thorin…” Bilbo began, the word coming out in a sigh.

And so Thorin decided to change tack. In one less-than graceful movement, he scooped Bilbo up into his arms and slid down into the chair. Bilbo let out an undignified squawk, wriggling in Thorin’s lap until he’d steadied himself, legs hanging over the chair’s arm.

“Much better,” Thorin grinned, wrapping one arm around Bilbo’s back as he pecked a kiss to his forehead.

Bilbo gave a half-hearted grumble and turned his face into Thorin’s chest.

“I wish you’d worn your slippers,” Thorin said quietly, one hand closing around Bilbo’s bare foot which was white and icy cold beneath his fingers.

“The hair helps,” Bilbo replied, sounding unconcerned and sleepy.

Thorin moved his hand to the sole of Bilbo’s foot so that he could take in the thatch of light brown hair which was indeed covering the top of both Bilbo’s feet. How had he not noticed it before?

“Well, it doesn’t help enough,” he chided, trying to rub some warmth back into the foot.

Bilbo’s contented hum as his eyes slid closed eased some of the tightness in Thorin’s chest. They stayed snuggled together in silence for a long time, Thorin turning his attentions to warming Bilbo’s other foot, and he was quite convinced the younger man had drifted off to sleep when he spoke, sounding very much awake… and quite anxious.

“Thorin, if things go badly today…”

“Then I’ll be there,” Thorin murmured, hand moving to gently cup Bilbo’s cheek. “You’re not going to go through this alone, I promise.”

Bilbo opened his mouth, as if to protest, but then promptly closed it again, his lips settling into a smile. Thorin hooked a finger under his chin and kissed the smile, a slow, sweet kiss, sealing his promise.

 

…

 

When Thorin woke again, it wasn’t with a snore, but with a choke as he almost swallowed the hair that had been pressed against his lips. Eyes fluttering open, his stomach clenched as his mind struggled to process the fact that he wasn’t in Bilbo’s bed. His waking thoughts sluggishly filled in the gaps and he found himself still sitting in the chair by the window, with a dull, thrumming ache in his neck and an armful of Bilbo in his lap.

There were strips of sunlight tumbling through the blinds, landing like tickertape on the linoleum floor, and a few fell over Bilbo’s hair, making the curls appear golden. Bilbo was still a sleep, his nose pressed into Thorin’s chest, and so he was careful not to jostle him as he flexed his fingers and wiggled his toes, trying to get some feeling back into his sleep-heavy limbs. It was then that he noticed his blue woollen blanket had been draped over them both by some invisible hand.

“You two really need to stop doing this.”

Thorin was sure Bilbo’s weight was the only thing keeping him from jumping out of the chair. Rosie was standing over by Bilbo’s bed, stripping the sheets with seasoned efficiency.

“Doing what?” Thorin asked, keeping his voice low.

“This,” Rosie said, gesturing over to him. “Adorable, lovey-dovey stuff, whenever my back is turned. Honestly, walking into the room this morning was like a scene from a rom-com.”

Thorin only smiled. “Sorry, Rosie.”

“No, it’s fine, really. Just more material for the book I’m going to write to help pay off my mortgage.”

Thorin’s questioning eyebrow hadn’t quite reached his hairline when Bilbo stirred, going rigid in his arms for one long moment, before his body relaxed again, his nose nudging against Thorin’s neck.

“Morning,” he mumbled, stretching a little before twisting back towards Thorin. His eyes then slid across the room to Rosie. “What’s going on?”

“Rosie is going to write a book about us,” Thorin explained, kissing the top of Bilbo’s head.

“Ah, an epic love story – something tasteful and timeless?” Bilbo said, grinning over at the nurse.

“Nah, it’s gonna be one of those trashy, three-quid holiday novels you pick up from the book aisle in ASDA,” Rosie replied, wrestling the case off one of Bilbo’s pillows. “But its royalties will keep me warm during my long years of spinsterhood.”

Bilbo gave a disapproving sigh, and Thorin sensed this conversation had happened before. “Rosie, you’re hardly a spinster!”

“I’m sure you’ll find some –” Thorin began, but the nurse cut across him.

“No, no, no! Don’t you dare smug couple me,” she warned, dumping the sheets in her arms into the laundry basket.

Bilbo opened his mouth, but Rosie lifted a silencing hand. “Bilbo, it’s fine, I’m fine – it was just a joke… Now you two need to get dressed and get your breakfast orders in – menus are on the chest of drawers.”

And then, with a smile, she disappeared back onto the ward with Bilbo’s laundry basket.

Thorin watched the nurse leave and then turned back to Bilbo, who hadn’t quite managed to rearrange his facial expression into something neutral before Thorin’s eyes found his. There was a grey look of worry flickering amongst the green and a crease of anxiety between his brows, but Thorin understood completely: in just over two hours, Samwise Gamgee would be walking onto the ward for the first time.

“Okay?” Thorin asked softly, squeezing Bilbo’s hand.

Bilbo shuffled up and slid his legs around so that his feet came to rest on the floor, next to where Dain lay, still curled up, but watching them both with his usual alertness. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to stomach any breakfast this morning,” he whispered, squeezing back.

Thorin nodded. “As long as you have some water, maybe some coffee?”

 Bilbo hummed and then dragged himself up out of the chair. Standing with his back to Thorin, he lifted his arms above his head to stretch them out, before dropping his hands and rolling his shoulders, his head moving from side to side. Thorin was quite glad Bilbo couldn’t see him staring, and he could feel a little heat spreading across his cheeks.

“Have you, er, thought about what you might wear today?” he asked, telling himself his voice didn’t sound at all suspect.

At first he had simply thought Bilbo would settle for his hoodie and a pair of chinos, a combination of comfort and smart casual. But then he remembered the first time Bilbo had met Balin and Dwalin, how he had wanted to make a good first impression. This situation was very different, of course, but Thorin felt his choice of clothes would still be important for Bilbo – even if it was just as another layer of armour.

“I’m not sure,” Bilbo admitted, turning back to Thorin. “I… I’d rather not wear my hoodie.”

“Okay,” Thorin said, sensing Bilbo didn’t want him to question this decision.

“Perhaps I… well, maybe I should’ve asked Fili, seen as she is my self-professed stylist… Though this isn’t exactly an occasion one frequently dresses for.”

“Why don’t we give her a ring?” Thorin suggested. “She won’t have caught her bus yet… and I’m sure she’d be glad to help.”

Bilbo seemed ready to protest, but then the tension left his face and a soft smile appeared. “Okay, let’s give her a call.”

 

…

 

“You really don’t think this is a bit… much?” Bilbo asked hesitantly, eyeing his reflection in the mirror above his sink.

Fili had persuaded Bilbo to wear a pair of sandy chinos and olive shirt, with the dark red blazer he had once been so reluctant to purchase layered over the top. In his journal, Bilbo had accused Thorin of looking like he had unwittingly wandered off the set of an Armani ad – and now he too looked like he had simply fallen straight out of the pages of a glossy magazine, and Thorin couldn’t stop staring at him.

“You look very dashing,” he said, with a gentle smile, as he came to stand behind Bilbo and placed his hands lightly on his shoulders.

“Did you really just use the word ‘dashing’?” Bilbo asked wryly, some of the tension leaving his shoulders as he turned to Thorin.

“Beautiful, then,” Thorin amended, leaning down to press a kiss to Bilbo’s neck.

Bilbo batted him away with a chuckle and once again crossed his room, going back to the window. He had been pacing for the past twenty minutes. Thorin had been unable to get him to sit still or settle to anything, and so he had simply shadowed his movements, offering what little reassurances he could.

“He’ll be here soon,” Bilbo murmured, stilling by the coffee table, his eyes fixed on the clock above the doorway.

Thorin nodded, coming to his side. “Shall we sit down and wait? Rosie said she’d show him in once he’s got his visitor badge sorted out.”

It took Bilbo a few moments to respond, but then he slowly sank down into the chair he had occupied last night. Thorin had collected a spare chair from the relatives room so that he didn’t have to meet Sam with Bilbo sitting in his lap, and he settled down into it now, hand reaching out for Dain, who had shuffled forward to sit between his knees.

“Would you like some more water?” he asked quietly, fingers brushing over Bilbo’s arm.

As he had predicted, Bilbo had been unable to stomach anything other than half a glass of water that morning. Thorin tried to hide his concern as his eyes moved over Bilbo’s pale face, the shadows beneath his eyes looking darker than they had done for some time.

Bilbo shook his head. "I’ll be alright.”

His voice was sounding odd again, taking on that cold, mechanical quality from the difficult morning in Dr. Grey’s office where he had first revealed the truth about Hamfast. It seemed beyond unfair that Bilbo would have to go through that whole episode again today – have to relive his MIA once more in front of Sam – but Dr. Grey had suggested it might be best if he was the one to tell Sam everything and Bilbo had point blank refused the offer, saying he owed it to Hamfast, that he should be the one to tell his son how he had died.

“Can I do anything?” Thorin said softly, desperate to help alleviate some of Bilbo’s obvious pain and anxiety at the impending meeting.

At first Thorin thought Bilbo was simply going to ignore him, but then the younger man’s hand moved across the chair’s arm and he twined their fingers together. He and Thorin shared a quiet smile… and then Bilbo froze, sitting up straighter in his chair.

An unfamiliar voice sounded at the nurses’ station beyond the door. The voice was soft and the unmistakable West Country accent drifted towards them. Thorin’s fingers flexed around Bilbo’s, but Bilbo wouldn’t look at him: he stared towards the door, his gaze grey and intent, his lips set in a thin line, his mask well and truly fixed in place.

Thorin waited, his heart making a slow journey up into his throat, and then Rosie stepped into the room, Samwise Gamgee at her side. Sam was only twenty-four, but standing before them now, he seemed much older than his years. He was wearing a black suit jacket and trousers – both of which appeared to be quite ill-fitting – with a pale blue shirt and no tie. Thorin wasn’t sure if the suit looked poorly fit because Sam clearly wasn’t used to wearing one or because the clothes weren’t in fact his, and had been borrowed especially for the occasion. Either way, in his jeans, plaid shirt, and beanie, Thorin felt distinctly underdressed, although he was glad he’d elected to wear his beanie – a layer of armour he wasn’t quite ready to relinquish just yet.

Sam’s hair was a mop of sandy curls – not dissimilar to Bilbo’s – and Thorin judged them to be about the same height, although Sam was definitely stockier, his shoulders broader and face squarer in shape.

For a long moment, silence clogged the room, but then Sam was moving forward, a warm smile spreading across his face, his green eyes bright with endearing kindness.

“Captain Baggins, sir,” he said quietly, extending his hand towards Bilbo. “It’s good to see you again.”

Bilbo rose to his feet, and Thorin was relieved to see that, even though there was still the slightest hint of strain, he was mirroring Sam’s smile. “And you, Sam. Please, call me Bilbo.”

Sam nodded as they shook hands, and then his eyes moved to Thorin, who had also got to his feet.

“Sam, I’d like to introduce you to my boyfriend, Thorin,” Bilbo said, gesturing between them. “Thorin, this is Sam, Hamfast’s son.”

“Oh,” Sam said, seeming momentarily surprised, and his eyes did linger on Dain, sitting beside the chair, but then he was taking Thorin’s hand in a fairly vigorous shake. “A pleasure to meet you, sir.”

Thorin hadn’t actually thought about Sam’s reaction to his relationship with Bilbo, which was, no doubt, quite unexpected. He guessed if Bilbo had been open about his sexuality with the men in his unit, their families would also be aware of it, and Sam especially, given Bilbo and his father had been so close… but this didn’t quite prepare him for the fact that Bilbo had become attached during his stay at Ered Luin. It also didn’t explain why there was a chocolate Labrador in a high-vis jacket joining them for the meeting. Sam seemed to be trying to remember if he’d heard Thorin’s name before, if he could place him in one of his father’s stories, but as soon as Thorin met his gaze he simply smiled politely.

“Why don’t you have a seat, Sam?” Rosie suggested, gesturing to the chair opposite Bilbo. 

Thorin then became aware that they had all been standing, studying each other awkwardly for far too long. With Bilbo not being at his best today, and Sam clearly very nervous, and Thorin just past How Not to be Socially Inept 101, he wasn’t sure how exactly the day was going to go.

“Oh, er, thank you, Miss…?” Sam replied, offering Rosie a shy smile.

“Just ‘Rosie’ is fine,” Rosie said dryly. “You start calling me ‘Miss Cotton’ and you’ll make me sound like a schoolteacher.”

“Right… Sorry…” Sam managed a laugh, although it sounded more stuttered than was strictly comfortable. “Rosie.”

The way Sam said Rosie’s name made it sound like he was treading on hallowed ground and Thorin raised an eyebrow. The young florist continued to stare at Rosie, a little colour creeping into his cheeks, and Rosie seemed to be trying very hard not to notice, doing well at fighting back her look of confusion.

“So, can I get anyone any drinks? Tea? Coffee?” she asked, clapping her hands together in a gesture that seemed quite out-of-place for the nurse’s usually unflappable nature.

“I’ll have a coffee, please, Rosie,” Thorin said, deciding it might actually be up to him to rescue the morning. “Milk, no sugar.”

“Okay, Sam? Anything?” Rosie asked, and then Thorin found himself blinking a few times in disbelief. Was Rosie actually _blushing_?

Why was she…? Oh. _Oh._ The revelation smacked Thorin quite thoroughly around the face as his eyes darted between the two. Christ, was this what he and Bilbo looked like during their first month of dancing around each other? With Bilbo trying his best to be subtle and him being completely oblivious?

“Er, a cup of tea would be lovely, thank you,” Sam said, before adding, with another stuttered laugh. “Seen as I’ve heard so much about your famous Yorkshire tea.”

Rosie’s familiar, wry smile was back, but the blush was definitely still there. “Well, I hope it lives up to your expectations. How do you take it?”

“Oh, er, milk… two sugars, please,” Sam replied, and Thorin was glad he decided not to laugh again.

“Excellent,” Rosie smiled, although she seemed a little relieved she could turn her attentions away from Sam, her eyes moving to Bilbo. “Bilbo? Do you want anything?”

Bilbo slowly shook his head. “I’m alright.”

Rosie’s gaze lingered, concern flickering across the blue, but then she was dismissing herself with: “I’ll just go and get those sorted for you.”

The way Sam carefully shifted his head to watch Rosie leave definitely was not as discreet as he thought it was, but Thorin tried to keep his eyebrows in their usual place. With Rosie gone, another silence returned. Thorin shot Bilbo a sideways glance, confirming that the younger man had retreated into himself and clearly wasn’t feeling up to making small-talk – not that Thorin blamed him – he just didn’t think it was fair to Sam, having travelled all this way, to be subjected to such an uncomfortable situation before he was told the truth about what happened to his father. And so it was up to Thorin, in all his socially-awkward glory, to save the day.

“Did you find your way from the station okay?” he asked, one hand moving lightly over Dain’s head. This seemed like a fairly innocuous question to start off their conversation.

“Oh, er, yes… I had to ask for directions a couple o’ times,” Sam explained, with another warm smile.  “Once folk were done imitatin’ my accent, they were quite helpful.”

Thorin gave a soft laugh. Sam’s accent was quite distinct and when he spoke it made him think of stretches of yellow fields and earth and sunlight.

“You would’ve thought us Yorkshire lot would be more sympathetic,” Thorin said quietly. “I’ve had over a decade of ‘ _Ee bah gum, Captain!_ ’ said when my back was turned.”

Sam’s eyes widened in surprise. “Are you in the Forces as well, Mister Thorin?”

“I am… Well, I suppose I’m on a bit of an extended leave of absence at the moment… Recovering from, er… injury,” Thorin explained, trying not to cringe at his stammering.

“Oh…” Thorin could practically see the cogs whirring behind Sam’s eyes as they moved down to Dain and then across to Bilbo. “If you don’t mind me askin’, sir… Did you and Cap- Bilbo meet here? In the hospital?”

“Just ‘Thorin’ is fine,” Thorin replied, finding Sam’s quiet manners ridiculously endearing. “And yes, we did, about seven months ago now.”

Sam’s answering smile was once again genuine and full of kindness. “I know Dad would be very pleased to hear it… He was always hopin’ you’d meet someone, Bilbo.”

“Is that Hamfast’s suit?” Bilbo asked suddenly, now that the attention had been turned back on him.

Sam looked taken aback, his mouth opening and then closing without a sound, and Bilbo’s expression was instantly clouded with remorse, the guilt clearly etched across his face. Thorin knew well the regret that came with a malfunctioning filter.

“I’m so sorry,” Bilbo whispered, face almost white. “I didn’t mean to be so blunt, I just… I recognise the pin, on your lapel.”

Thorin’s eyes moved to the small metal pin: two roses crowned over crossed laurels, the Intelligence Corps’ military badge.

Sam fiddled, a little self-consciously, with the suit jacket’s collar. “Oh, no harm done… It is my dad’s… I, er, I wasn’t really sure what I should wear for today, but I wanted to make sure I was lookin’ presentable… I thought maybe Dad wouldn’t mind if I borrowed his suit.”

Bilbo nodded. “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind at all.”

Thorin could understand why he was finding this meeting difficult. He wasn’t sure how much resemblance Sam bore to his father, but considering the look on Bilbo’s face now, and the shine in his eyes, Thorin would say father and son were probably very alike.

An extended silence had fallen between them, with Bilbo choosing to look out the window and Sam doing his best not to look too embarrassed. Thorin was about to comment on the weather when Rosie reappeared with two steaming mugs.

“Here we go,” she said breezily, although the look she shot Thorin communicated that she’d instantly picked up on the tension in the room.

“Thank you, Rosie,” Sam smiled, as the nurse placed the tea on the table in front of him.

Thorin accepted his own mug with murmured thanks, making sure Rosie didn’t miss his raised eyebrow and suggestive smirk. Rosie only scowled in response, and just for a moment, it provided a distraction from the momentousness of the morning that lay before them, from the horrible knowledge that he knew the devastating things Sam was about to be told.

“So… Sam, I hear you’re quite the flower-expert?” Rosie asked, and Thorin sensed she was doing her best to put Sam at ease in the midst of the awkward silence.

Sam turned to Rosie with a bashful smile. “I don’t know about ‘expert’, but I’ve been workin’ in Mr. Bolger’s shop for a few years now… Also doin’ quite a bit of freelance gardenin’ for the older folk in Long Ashton.”

“I’m crap with flowers,” Rosie sighed. “Night-shifts and remembering to water plants don’t really go hand in hand.”  

“Oh,” Sam said, seeming genuinely upset by Rosie’s plight. “Well there are plenty of flowers that don’t need that regular a waterin’, like –”

Sam stopped abruptly when Bilbo got to his feet and walked straight out of the room.

“Bilbo!” Thorin called out, leaping to his feet, but Bilbo didn’t turn. Thorin closed his eyes and promptly cursed under his breath.

Sam looked stricken as he too staggered to his feet. “I… I never wanted to go upsettin’ no one, Mister Thorin… I…”

“It’s alright, Sam, it’s just…” Thorin trailed off, having no idea how to tactfully finish that sentence. His gaze moved, a little desperately, to Rosie.

“You go, Thorin, I’ll stay here with Sam,” Rosie said, all blushing gone as she slipped easily back into unflappable-nurse mode. “I’ll get someone to send for Dr. Grey.”

Thorin gave a stiff nod and then followed Bilbo out the door, Dain dutifully following at his heels. Hearing his heart thudding in his ears, the panic took root in Thorin’s chest: what if Bilbo had already managed to hide himself…? What if…?

Thorin let out the breath he had been holding as he turned into the corridor that led to Bifur’s room and found Bilbo stumbling, quite blindly, only a dozen or so feet away. His hand was trailing against the wall and he appeared to be slowing, his other hand clutched to his stomach.

“Bilbo, sweetheart…?” Thorin said, keeping his voice low and calm.

Bilbo came to a stop, although he didn’t turn; he only hunched forward, letting out a broken sound which had Thorin striding forward to meet him.

“Hey… Hey, shhh… It’s okay, I’m right here,” Thorin whispered, hands gently closing around Bilbo’s arms and helping him straighten up.

“He… He looks just like him,” Bilbo gasped out, and the eyes that met Thorin’s were swimming with tears. “Sounds like him… and now he’s wearing his suit… L-like the ghost at the feast… _Hence, horrible shadow! Unreal mockery, hence!_ ”

 _Ghost at the feast_ …? Thorin knew he had heard that somewhere before, and he frantically dragged his mind back over two decades to his English O-level… _Ghost at the feast_ … _Wait… that’s_ Macbeth! _Shakespeare… right… The ghost at the feast is… Banquo!… Who shows up because… because Macbeth had him murdered… Shit… Shit._

Shaking, Bilbo clutched at Thorin’s shirt, pushing his face into his chest and Thorin held him as he cried, chin resting on his curls, wishing he could take Bilbo’s pain away.

“You’re doing so well, Bilbo,” he murmured. “I’ve told you before, and I mean it: I’m so proud of you for getting to this point… But if you’re not ready today, I’m sure we can postpone until tomorrow. Sam will understand.”

Bilbo tightened his grip on Thorin’s shirt, letting out a hiccup, and then he slowly turned his head so that his cheek was resting against his chest. “I… I’d rather just get this all over and done with. I can’t hold it inside any longer.”

“Okay,” Thorin said, kissing Bilbo’s hair. “Then that’s exactly what we’ll do.”

Bilbo screwed up his eyes, drawing in a shuddering breath. “I’ve made such a mess of today… I didn’t want it to be like this… I thought I’d cope so much better…”

“Today was always going to be difficult,” Thorin replied softly. “But you haven’t made a mess at all: we’ve just hit a little bump in the road… and it’s not over yet.”

Bilbo slid his arms around Thorin’s waist. “I’m so glad you’re here with me.”

Thorin managed a small smile. “Told you I would be.”

He wasn’t sure how long they had been standing together in the corridor when Poppy appeared, carrying a pack of floral tissues.

“Rosie has taken Sam to Dr. Grey’s office,” she explained carefully. “It’s up to you if you decide to join them, or if you’d like some time alone, Bilbo.”

Bilbo slowly pulled away, managing a teary smile as Poppy made a show of opening the little plastic pack and presenting him with the first, flower-speckled tissue. He tentatively dabbed at his eyes and wiped his nose. “If you could give me about five minutes to make myself look a little less unhinged, I’d like to join them in Gandalf’s office.”

Poppy nodded. “I’ll pass the message on.”

They both watched the nurse disappear back down the corridor and then Thorin brushed a thumb over Bilbo’s cheek. “You’re sure you want to do this now?”

Bilbo reached up to take his hand. “I’m sure… Like you said…” He drew in a deep breath. “This has been destroying me… It’s time I stopped giving it that power.”

 

…

 

Thorin didn’t miss the way Bilbo’s step faltered as they drew closer to Dr. Grey’s office, but with a gentle squeeze of his fingers, he kept his pace at Thorin’s side, and they entered the office together, a resolute look in Bilbo’s grey eyes.

The low coffee table and armchairs had been pulled away from the window to accommodate more furniture: Sam and Rosie were seated at one side of the table, with two empty chairs waiting for Thorin and Bilbo at the other side, and Dr. Grey sitting between them, ready to act as mediator. Unlike the previous discussion, Bilbo had asked that the doctor remain present for the whole thing, and Thorin guessed Rosie was joining them as an extra pair of hands, should anything go awry. A few nights ago, in an emotional dress rehearsal for today, Bilbo had told Rosie the truth about Hamfast, and so she too knew the difficulty that lay ahead. He supposed Sam was also more than entitled to some emotional support, given the difficult nature of the meeting and being so far away from home.

“Ah, good morning to you both,” Dr. Grey greeted, peering at them over the top of his glasses. “Please do come in and have a seat.”

Thorin and Bilbo moved into the room and Sam clambered to his feet just as they reached the coffee table.

“I… I’m sorry about before, C – Bilbo,” he said, sounding anxious to make amends. “I told you in my letter I’m not so good with words and –”

Bilbo silenced him with a hand on his arm. “It’s quite alright, Sam. The fault is entirely mine… You… You are so like your father, and I’m sure he’d be very proud of the fine young man you’ve become… I, well, I miss him terribly, and I’m afraid it became a little too much for me.”

“I understand, sir,” Sam replied, smiling as they all settled into their respective chairs.

Thorin was glad Bilbo had been able to speak so eloquently just now, and he just had enough fight left in him to be able to tell Sam the truth about Hamfast.

“Right, now we are all here, shall we get started?” Dr. Grey asked kindly.

There was a murmur of agreement from around the table and Thorin felt his heart pick up its pace. Bilbo silently reached for his hand.

“Very well, now,” Dr. Grey began. “As you know from our phone calls, Sam, Bilbo would like to share with you his version events regarding your father’s capture and subsequent death.”

Bilbo’s fingers twitched around Thorin’s.

“These are in no way easy things to discuss, and so, if, at any point, you would like us to stop this meeting or you would like to take a break, all you need do is let us know. Equally, Bilbo, Thorin, the same also applies to you.”

Thorin lowered his head in understanding as Bilbo and Sam murmured their assent.

“Alright,” Dr. Grey said, his blue eyes slowly moving over to Bilbo, and when he next spoke, his voice was unbelievably gentle. “Bilbo… You may begin when you are ready.”

There was a moment of charged silence, in which all eyes came to rest on Bilbo, and then the younger man spoke, his voice steadier than Thorin had ever expected.

“ _It happened in the spring of 2011…_ ”

What followed was a tale almost identical to the one Thorin had heard in that very office, just over a week ago. Bilbo had obviously been rehearsing the words in his head, and Thorin couldn’t blame him. The story was delivered with the same cold detachment Thorin had witnessed, but when it came to the moment Bilbo was to introduce Hamfast into the story, his voice wavered.

Unlike the previous telling, Bilbo hadn’t needed to pause at any point, and Sam had listened without a single word, his face only losing more and more of its colour as the story moved towards its inevitable climax, but now Bilbo did pause. He swallowed, turning his shining eyes away from Sam, and Thorin rubbed his thumb over his knuckles, murmuring soft words of comfort.

“That night,” Bilbo whispered, blinking back tears, “They threw your father into my cell.”

Sam’s eyes widened and he looked wildly from Bilbo, to Dr. Grey, to Thorin. “He… he was still alive…? Dad didn’t get…” He stopped, mouth soundlessly forming the words, before he managed to speak again. “He wasn’t… shot? Like the others?”

“No,” Bilbo replied, voice tight. “No, he wasn’t.”

“So… was… was he hurt badly?” Sam asked, expression fearful, and Thorin had to look away.

A tear dribbled down Bilbo’s cheek. “He was, very badly.” Bilbo was fighting to keep hold of that mechanical quality in his voice, but failing with every broken syllable. “They’d tortured him… the way they’d tortured me… I… I’m s-so s-sorry, Sam.”

Sam’s green eyes were shining now as he leaned forward in his chair. “Captain Baggins, sir… Please… Please I just need to know… How did my dad die?”

The plea in Sam’s voice was almost too much for Thorin to bear and he slid his free hand into Dain’s fur, his other tensing around Bilbo’s, which had grown clammy with cold sweat.

Sam had begged Bilbo to tell him the truth, and so Bilbo did.

Thorin waited, the pain in his chest growing with every second, powerless to do anything but watch as Sam’s face slowly crumpled and the light faded from his eyes, which had become red and watery.

Bilbo’s skin was ashen and had taken on a sickly tinge as he spoke the final words of his story: “Th-The next day… they d-dumped me back outside our base… Knowing I would have to…” His voice cracked around a cry. “H-Have to live with… _everything I’ve done_.”

Sam leaned forward, moving his hands up to cover his face, and he let out a shaking breath. Rosie put a gentle hand on his shoulder, discreetly reaching up to wipe at her own eyes with the other.

“I-I’m sorry, Sam…” Bilbo choked out. “I’m s-sorry I… I took your dad from you.”

Stomach twisting, Thorin slowly untangled his hand from Bilbo’s so that he could slide his arm around the younger man’s back. Bilbo barely registered the change, only stared, desperately, across the gulf that he had opened up between himself and Hamfast’s son.

A long, soundless moment burned between them, spreading out to the corners of the room like a noxious gas, and then Sam slowly lifted his head. Avoiding looking in Bilbo’s direction, he turned instead to Dr. Grey.

“I… I think I need some air,” he whispered.

And Thorin’s heart sank.

“Of course, Sam,” the doctor said, voice calm and quiet.

“Why don’t we go to the hospital gardens?” Rosie suggested, tone a little strained, and Thorin knew she was doing her best not to look over at Bilbo, lest she lose her nerve completely.

Sam nodded and so Rosie helped him get to his feet. She then guided him out of the office, one steadying hand still on his shoulder.

“ _Thorin…_ ”

Bilbo’s voice was high and strained, and Thorin instantly turned, one hand reaching out to grab Bilbo’s again. Bilbo looked up at him, his eyes red and raw from tears as he took a few, gasping breaths.

“I… I’m thinking about throwing the table across the room…” he said, shaking as he spoke. “A-And then I want to beat my hands against the walls… until they’re red and I can’t feel my fingers… and I think I might rip out all my hair…”

“Bilbo,” Thorin said urgently, stomach tightening to a fist.

But then Bilbo’s voice rose over his: “I-I’m telling you so I won’t do it… I… I don’t want to do it…”

“Okay, okay,” Thorin said, moving to sit on the table in front of Bilbo. That was one way to make sure he didn’t chuck it across the room. He reached out and took both of Bilbo’s hands in his. “You’re not going to hurt yourself; I promise I won’t let you.”

“Thank you,” Bilbo whispered, his shoulders slumping, but then, leaning forward, he let out a long, low cry, filled with so much pain it set an ache throbbing deep within the caverns of Thorin’s chest.

He knew what was fuelling the cry: the thought that Sam would never forgive him for his father’s death, the thought that this lack of forgiveness would cement for him that Hamfast’s death, along with the rest of his unit, had been his fault. Thorin prayed desperately to every named and unnamed force in the universe that this wouldn’t prove to be a momentous step back for Bilbo. He had come so, so far in the past few weeks, and Thorin wouldn’t be able to bear it if everything was erased in one grey morning.

Bilbo crumbled beneath the weight of his cry until his face was once again pressing into Thorin’s chest. Thorin kept his fingers laced with Bilbo’s and rested his chin on his hair. It was then that Dain, who had so far been a silent observer of the proceedings, let out a whine. He moved forward and Thorin couldn’t help but smile as the Labrador licked at his and Bilbo’s joined hands. Thorin whispered some quick words of praise, before turning his attentions back to Bilbo.

“Whatever happens now,” he said, forcing the tremble from his voice, “Whatever happens, Bilbo, you have to know that I love you, I always will… and I’m still looking at you in the same way I always have done.”

Bilbo let out a whimper, head shuddering beneath Thorin’s chin.

“You did everything you set out to do today,” Thorin continued, blinking to try and fight the sharp stinging in the corners of his eyes. “You told Sam the truth… and I am so, so proud of you.”

Bilbo didn’t reply, only stilled in Thorin’s arms, and Thorin felt the exhaustion take over as every muscle in his body seemed to give up the fight. Remembering how Bilbo had lost consciousness without his knowledge the last time they had found themselves here, Thorin shifted his head, looking down, trying to see Bilbo’s eyes.

“Bilbo?” he murmured.

“Still here,” Bilbo mumbled, and Thorin smiled.

“Good.”

Thorin wasn’t sure how long it was they sat like that in the silence of Dr. Grey’s office. The doctor himself barely moved, obviously sensing no intervention was necessary. Every so often, Thorin would whisper soft nonsense in Bilbo’s ear, just to check he was still with them, and Bilbo would murmur something back.

It must have been just after the eighth or ninth of these exchanges that there came a soft knock on the office door and Bilbo tensed, lifting his head from Thorin’s chest.

“Are you alright for Sam and Rosie to come back into the room?” Dr. Grey asked, looking across at Bilbo, caution in his tone.

Bilbo nodded, seeming unable to manage any vocal response.

“Come in,” the doctor called.

The door slowly swung open and Sam and Rosie edged back into the room. Sam’s face was ruddy from crying, but his eyes were dry, their expression soft and sad. Thorin carefully drew himself away from Bilbo and returned to his original seat, keeping their hands joined. Dain shuffled back to sit between his knees.

“I’m sorry I had to leave,” Sam said quietly, eyes fixed on Bilbo. “I didn’t mean to cause you more pain, Captain… I just needed some time – to do some figurin’, about everythin’ you told me.”

“Of course,” Bilbo replied, his face taking on a sickly hue again, and Thorin was well aware that he felt like a defendant on the stand, waiting to hear the jury’s verdict.

Sam took a step forward, doing his best not to fidget with the hands held in front of him. “And now I… I want you to know that I stand by what I said in my letter: I still don’t blame you for Dad’s death… I’m glad you were there with him at the end; that you made sure he died with… with dignity… despite everythin’ they did to you.”

Tears were starting to stream down Bilbo’s face and Thorin could feel his fingers trembling beneath his own. The ache inside Thorin’s chest was crumbling away, but still he held onto his breath, not letting it go until Sam had finished.

“They’d already hurt Dad bad enough and I’m glad you didn’t let them hurt him any more… Dad told me once he’d be happy to die out there as long as it was by your side, so I figure he did die happy… and I… I want to thank you for that.”

Sam drew in a deep breath, reaching up to wipe his eyes, and Thorin saw Rosie move, quite unconsciously, closer to his side.

“I don’t want you blamin’ yourself no more, Captain – it’s not what Dad would’ve wanted. He’d want you to be happy… and I’ll do anythin’ I can to make sure that happens.”

Bilbo suddenly staggered to his feet. Thorin willingly relinquished his hand as he moved forward and pulled Sam into a hug. Sam reacted instantly, wrapping his arms around Bilbo’s back, and then the two were murmuring to each other, too quietly for Thorin to hear, but he knew they were doing their best to ease the ache of their shared pain.

And so Thorin let out his breath, once again finding himself watching Bilbo take another gargantuan step towards recovery in the quiet sunlight of Dr. Grey’s office.


	51. Chapter 51

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The dust settles (again) and Thorin tries his hand at match-making.

_IN LOVING MEMORY OF IRIS BROWN_

_(1951 – 2012)_

_For all those times she sat and waited for me._

 

Thorin studied the silver plaque, using a hand to block out the sunlight so he could read the delicately engraved script. Somewhere deep within his chest he felt an unexpected pang at the loss of Iris Brown, this woman he had never known, but he supposed it may have been because he himself was no stranger to losing those he loved… and because that morning, that week, he had been living in a world inhabited by Bilbo’s ghosts, sharing his boyfriend’s feelings of pain and loss.

As if sensing his mental footsteps straying onto darker paths, Dain nudged Thorin’s thigh and gently licked at the fingers closed around his lead. Thorin looked down at the Labrador and a wave of fondness rushed over him. Taking a seat on Iris Brown’s bench, he let Dain shuffle in between his knees and gave his ears a thorough, appreciatory scratch.

“Aren’t you doing an excellent job, mister?” Thorin grinned, and Dain’s brown eyes shone with excitement as his wagging tail slapped back and forth against Thorin’s ankles. “You’re taking care of all of us, aren’t you?”

He knew Dain was trained to look after him, to be an omnipresent source of comfort and reassurance, but Thorin also couldn’t help but feel he had a duty of care to Dain… and he was worried he might have been neglecting the Labrador as of late. Dain was such an essential part of his life, but his presence was so constant that sometimes Thorin forgot he was there at all: he was simply an extension of himself. Maybe this was something he should ask about during his next support group meeting.

Leaning down, Thorin scratched at the fur under Dain’s chin and bumped their noses together. In turn, the Labrador gave his face a reassuring series of affectionate, slobbery licks, making Thorin chuckle. “Clever, clever boy,” he said, unable to stop the coo that came into his voice, and he reached into his jeans pocket, offering Dain  the last of his treats – he’d have to restock from the bag Bilbo kept in one of his bedside cabinets.

Thorin straightened up on the bench and his gaze wandered over to the hospital, looming large and grey across the carpark that separated them, the uncountable rows of windows flashing silver in the early afternoon sunlight. After everything that had passed in Dr. Grey’s office, Thorin had understood when Bilbo and Sam had wanted some time alone, to speak more privately about Hamfast and process the morning’s events.

Deciding he could do with some fresh air, Thorin had sought out one of the benches that were scattered around the hospital grounds on little islands of green. Adrift in a sea of dulled colours, Thorin was grateful for the grass beneath his feet and the gentle breeze that was making his coat collar flutter.

He leant his head back and decided to take a few slow, deep breaths, inhaling through his nose, before carefully exhaling. It wasn’t yet cold enough for him to see his breath misting in front of him, but still the trees beyond the lines of cars were alight with autumn colours. Their branches had held fistfuls of white and pink blossom when he first arrived here in the spring.

Thorin wasn’t sure what it was that made him pull his mobile from his jeans pocket, but still he found himself opening his slowly expanding contacts list and dialling Dwalin’s number. The chattering, traffic-led pulse of Leeds city centre died away as Thorin lifted the phone to his ear and listened. After seven rings, Dwalin’s fairly blunt answerphone message sounded (“ _I’m inkin’_ ”), followed by one, long beep.

“… D-Dwalin… it’s, er, it’s Thorin… I…”

Chest tightening, Thorin quickly hung up and dropped the phone into his lap. So that had gone well. He let out a huff of frustration, but then Dain was giving his hand a consoling lick. He wasn’t sure why he’d expected his cousin to pick up: it was the middle of the day, and of course Dwalin would be at work. Thorin’s mind was wandering across the carpark in the direction of Bond Street and the AFCO when his phone suddenly started vibrating.

_Dwalin Mobile calling…_

Thorin picked up, a surprised eyebrow raised. “Hello?”

“Thorin, lad?” Dwalin sounded out of breath, his tone full of an unexpected urgency. “Are… are y’alright…?”

“Oh, er, yes… I’m… I’m fine,” Thorin replied, trying not to sound too perturbed by Dwalin’s obvious distress. “It’s just, well, been a while since our last phone call… I, er, thought I’d give you a ring… But if it’s not a good time, I –”

“No, no, it’s fine – no appointments ‘til three anyway… Gimme one sec…”

Dwalin’s voice grew quieter (and distinctly more, well, _Scottish_ ) as he moved the phone away.

“Oi, young’un! I’m takin’ ma break! Get yer arse over to those shelves an’ get ‘em cleaned!”

Thorin thought he heard a response from somewhere in the distance, and Dwalin didn’t seem too pleased with it.

“Don’ gimme that shit, yer either workin’ here or yer not, now sort it out!”

Thorin waited patiently as he listened to Dwalin moving through the tattoo studio in Cockburn Street. A door banged and then Dwalin was back on the line.

“Uh, sorry ‘bout that,” his cousin said, voice gruff but quiet.

“It’s fine.” Thorin could feel the awkwardness of the conversation hanging between them, but his and Dwalin’s phone calls usually started out with this kind of stopping and starting, before they really found their feet with talking to each other. “Everything… er, okay?”

Dwalin let out a growl. “Me an’ Keith are gettin’ on a bit so we figured we needed to hire some young blood jus’ to, y’know, help us out… I dunno where Keith found this wank badger, but he’s twenty-two, thinks he’s God’s gift, an’ is a right royal pain in the arse.”

Thorin couldn’t help but laugh. “I’m sorry to hear it… Can’t you fire him and get someone else?”

“Keith knows the prick’s family, thinks he owes them… Owes me more like for havin’ to put up with him.”

“Oh… right.” Thorin was aware that this wasn’t a very helpful response, but he supposed he and Dwalin weren’t exactly masters of sympathy.

“I, uh, I’m sorry I was… er, when I picked up, I...” Dwalin was clearly trying to choose his words carefully. “I saw your missed call an’ panicked a bit… I mean, I know I’m not exactly your first port o’ call, but… er, if you ever needed me, lad, I’d want to be there for you.”

“Thanks, Dwal,” Thorin said, unable to hide a smile. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“S’alright.” There was a long pause before Dwalin spoke again: “So… er, how are things? Your chap doin’ okay?”

Thorin stiffened a little, mouth opening to respond, but not quite managing to form the words.

“You want to talk about it?” Dwalin asked, caution creeping into his tone.

“It’s… it’s been a bit of a difficult morning,” Thorin admitted, rubbing a hand over his beard. “The son of Bilbo’s second-in-command came up from Bristol… so they could… could talk about what happened.”

The last time Thorin and Dwalin spoke had been after the first reveal in Dr. Grey’s office. He had told him a few vague details about Bilbo’s MIA, although he didn’t share the story about Hamfast, knowing this wasn’t his to tell.

“Oh, right…” Dwalin said, sounding solemn. “So, the wee lad’s father was… he didn’t make it?”

“No… But he and Bilbo spoke about it, about what happened… Sam’s forgiven him, told him not to blame himself… They’re still talking now and I, er, wanted to give them some space.”

“That must’ve been tough,” Dwalin agreed. “But it, er, it sounds like your fella’s doin’ really well… what with sharin’ all this, an’ being so honest about everythin’.”

The ache and the smile arrived at the same time as Thorin answered: “I’m so proud of him, Dwal.”

“Aye, I bet you are.” Thorin could hear Dwalin’s smile as he spoke. “An’ I’m very glad to hear it.”

There were a few moments of quiet, the lingering awkwardness slowly receding, and Thorin’s gaze moved back to the hospital, eyes unconsciously searching out Bilbo’s window.

“There was somethin’ me an’ Balin were wantin’ to talk to you about,” Dwalin began, coughing to clear his throat.

“Oh?”

“Well, we know your chap’s family are flyin’ in the week after next… an’ we were wonderin’ if you wanted us to come down for a couple o’ days? So we can meet them?”

“Oh, right... I… er, I’m not sure we’d be able to put you up – the house will be pretty crowded once Prim and Drogo arrive…”

“Don’t worry about that, lad: Balin’s already spoken to some of his toff friends who lecture at Leeds – we’ll have a place to stay, but if you’d rather we didn’t come –”

“Of course not,” Thorin cut Dwalin off, warmth blossoming in his chest. “It’d… it’d be really great to see you, to have you there.”

There was another pause, and then Dwalin spoke again: “We figured that… that family’s always been important. I know we’ve lost… we’ve lost a lot, an’ Bilbo has too… but Bilbo’s part of our family now an’ I suppose we just wanted a chance for us all to be together… as a family.”

Thorin swallowed as a wave of emotion crashed over him and he was aware that his voice sounded a little strangled as he answered: “Thank you, Dwal.”

“Now that’s as soppy as I’ll get, an’ don’t you go tellin’ anyone I said that,” Dwalin replied, with another cough. “Got a reputation to uphold.”

“Of course,” Thorin smirked. “But seriously… We’d all really love to see you.”

“Aye, wouldn’t want to miss the look on your chap’s face when he sees them again.”

Thorin was about to answer when he heard a distinct crash from Dwalin’s end.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, what the bloody hell has he done now?!”

“You need to go,” Thorin prompted, sensing he might be about to become an accessory to a very brutal murder.

“Aye, need to make sure this tosspot doesn’t single-handedly ruin me,” Dwalin growled. “Well, good to chat to you, lad… You take care of yourself… An’ I suppose I’ll see you soon.”

“Bye, Dwal.”

And with that Thorin hung up the phone.

 

…

 

When Thorin re-entered the ward with Dain he found Rosie waiting for him at the nurses’ station. They greeted each other with small smiles and the nurse handed over the sign-in sheet.

“Bilbo has decided to take a nap: he’s just getting changed at the moment,” Rosie explained. “And Sam has, er, gone to check in at the Travelodge across town.”

Thorin didn’t miss the unusual falter in Rosie’s voice as she mentioned Sam and she was refusing to meet his gaze, choosing instead to study the computer screen in front of her with curious intensity. He knew he probably shouldn’t be feeling a little giddy about the nurse’s obvious attraction to Hamfast’s son, but he also figured he had an awful lot of gentle teasing to repay.

“Oh, so he’s decided to stay?” Thorin asked, feeling relief settling in his stomach. Surely this was a good sign.

“Yes.” Rosie glanced up briefly, sounding strange. “He and Bilbo still have quite a lot they need to talk about.”

Thorin nodded as he finished signing in, and then he couldn’t help the sly smile that appeared on his lips as he said: “So… Sam seems nice?”

Several of the other members of staff at the station turned to glance towards Rosie, clearly waiting for her response, and the knowing looks they exchanged weren’t lost on Thorin.

“Yes, he’s coped very well with everything that's happened today… far better than most would,” came Rosie’s answer, as she checked the sign-in sheet, still studiously avoiding Thorin’s eye.

Believing Rosie’s reply wasn’t really sufficient, Thorin decided he should probably press the matter: “And he’s, er, he’s quite handsome too, isn’t he?”

Rosie’s eyes suddenly locked on Thorin’s. “No.”

“No?” Thorin felt a stab of panic in his stomach.

“No, as in we’re not having this conversation.” Rosie flashed Thorin a very dangerous, warning smile, before turning back to the computer. “Now go and see your boyfriend.”

Feeling well and truly told, Thorin decided against making a comment about Rosie’s ‘potential boyfriend’ and instead made his way to Bilbo’s room. The door was almost closed and as the nurse had told him that the younger man was changing for bed, he thought it might be best to knock lightly first.

“Bilbo? It’s Thorin… Can I come in?”

Thorin thought he heard a soft sound of frustration, but then Bilbo was calling out: “Er… yes, but can you close the door behind you?”

Furrowing his brow, Thorin slipped into the room with Dain, being sure to close the door behind him. Bilbo was standing by his bed… and he wasn’t currently wearing any trousers. He had his pyjama bottoms clutched in his hands and held in front of his bare legs with a slightly sheepish smile.

“Sorry… I, er, told Rosie I didn’t need any help but… well, Dr. Grey’s given me something to help me sleep and it’s made me go a bit wobbly.”

Thorin’s smile was full of affection as he urged Dain to go and settle down in the corner and then moved to meet Bilbo by the bed.

“Do you require some assistance?” he asked warmly, fingers reaching out to brush Bilbo’s arm.

“Please,” Bilbo whispered, still sounding a little apologetic.

“If I hold your bottoms out, will you be able to step into them?”

“That sounds like a plan.”

Bilbo held out the pyjamas to Thorin, and Thorin tried very, very hard not to look at Bilbo’s black boxer briefs and at the unmarked, pale skin of his thighs covered with a dusting of light brown hair. He and Bilbo often got dressed and undressed in the same room, but it just seemed an unspoken rule between them that they did so without watching each other – the way they had done all those months ago when they changed into scrubs in the hospital stairwell. Thorin suspected Bilbo very probably sneaked a few glances in his direction whilst they changed, but he’d never quite returned the glances – not wanting Bilbo to feel uncomfortable and knowing he wouldn’t be able to be at all subtle about it. But now… now he couldn’t help but let himself have the quickest, appreciative glance.

“I don’t mind you looking, you know,” Bilbo commented, breaking Thorin from his reverie.

“Oh, I… I wasn’t –” Thorin felt his cheeks begin to burn. “… Sorry.”

Bilbo only looked amused. “If you want me to take them off…?”

Thorin tried very hard not to choke on a breath. “M-Maybe when you’re… er, not doped up on sedatives?” he suggested, managing a smile.

Bilbo gave a soft hum. “Okay.”

“So… erm, if you put your hand on my shoulder to keep your balance and just…” Thorin held the pyjama bottoms out between them.

Bilbo obediently placed a hand over Thorin’s shoulder and then stepped into his pyjamas. His movements weren’t exactly graceful, but he still managed without staggering or losing his balance. Thorin lifted the bottoms and settled them on Bilbo’s hips, holding in a breath as his thumbs brushed over the top of the boxer briefs.

Bilbo’s hands moved slowly down from his shoulders, coming to rest on his forearms, finger and thumb pinching lightly at the fabric of Thorin’s shirt as he steadied himself. His gaze had become distant, a slight crease appearing on his brow.

“Bilbo?” Thorin prompted softly, fingers curling around the younger man’s elbows.

“Oh…” The sound was quiet as Bilbo returned to himself.

Thorin didn’t quite succeed in hiding his concern. “Okay?”

“Yes, yes… It’s just… there’s a hole in the grey wool and it’s… it’s getting bigger, opening up, filling with light… and I just feel so… empty, but it’s a good empty… Like all the heaviness is gone… and now I can sleep for about a week.”

Struck by both the hope and beauty of this image, Thorin slowly leaned down and pressed a kiss to Bilbo’s forehead. “I’m really glad,” he whispered.

“Sorry,” Bilbo murmured. “I’m rambling.”

Thorin touched his forehead to Bilbo’s, content to just be stood there together in the quiet. “It’s alright.”

They stayed in the same position for a long time, until Bilbo’s lids grew heavy and his eyes fluttered closed, and so Thorin slowly guided him to lie down on the bed, pulling the covers up to his chin.

“Would you like me to stay?” he asked, brushing a hand over Bilbo’s curls.

Bilbo nodded. “Please.”

Thorin slipped off his shoes and padded around to the other side of the bed. He climbed on top of the covers and Bilbo rolled over to face him, letting Thorin pull him into his chest. His fingers fiddled idly with the buttons on Thorin’s shirt collar for a while and when the fingers stilled, Thorin thought he must have dropped off to sleep. He was, therefore, quite surprised when Bilbo lifted his head to meet his gaze, expression serious.

Before Thorin had time to ask, Bilbo was speaking: “I’m proud of you too, you know.”

Thorin wasn’t quite sure how to reply, this unexpected declaration catching him off-guard.

“You’ve come so far from when we first met,” Bilbo continued, there was a sleepiness creeping into his voice, but he was clearly doing his best to fight against the pull of the drugs. “And I… I know that these past weeks have been really difficult, but I definitely couldn’t have done all of this without you. I’m so glad I’ve had you with me… I… I mean it, Thorin, you’ve been amazing.”

“Oh,” Thorin said, because he wasn’t sure he could formulate a better response, but still he felt a warm fuzziness growing in his chest and his stomach.

Bilbo’s hand slid up to cup a bearded cheek. “I love you, Thorin… God, I love you so much, and I get frustrated because those words never seem to be enough to tell you just exactly what you mean to me.”

The fuzzy feelings had only been multiplying as Bilbo spoke and now Thorin was sure he might be about to burst with these unforeseen admissions.

“I love you too,” he said, leaning forward to peck a kiss to Bilbo’s nose. “And even if you don’t think it’s enough, it’s more than enough for me.”

Bilbo gave him a sleepy smile, his eyelids fluttering again and he bumped their noses together. “Beautiful, brave, brilliant, best boyfriend,” he mumbled, snuggling closer.

Thorin chuckled, wrapping an arm around Bilbo’s waist. “Beautiful, brave, brilliant, best Bilbo,” he whispered back.

“You’re too cute to be real sometimes,” came Bilbo’s reply, wrapped around a yawn.

Thorin only laughed again and held Bilbo tighter as he drifted off to sleep.

 

…

 

“Thorin?”

Thorin hadn’t really been asleep, only dozing, slipping in and out of barely-there dreams, but still he jolted when a hand gave his shoulder a little squeeze. Doing his best not to jostle a still-sleeping Bilbo, Thorin carefully rolled away so that he could address the person to whom the hand belonged.

Rosie smiled down at him, a hint of contrition in her warm eyes. “Didn’t mean to startle you,” she said, voice low.

“It’s alright,” Thorin murmured, rubbing at his eye. “Everything okay?”

“Sam’s arrived back and he’s been sitting in the relatives’ room for a while – we don’t really have anywhere else for him to go. I was wondering… do you think you’d be able to take him down to the coffee shop? Just until Bilbo’s done napping?”

Thorin turned over Rosie’s words in his head, and then a sly grin appeared. “Why don’t _you_ take him for a coffee?”

Rosie rolled her eyes, once again refusing to rise to the bait. “Because _my_ break isn’t for another three hours.”

“Okay,” Thorin said, giving Rosie a good-natured smile as a peace offering.

He took care with disentangling himself from Bilbo and the covers and made sure they were wrapped back around the younger man’s shoulders.

Gaze lingering on Bilbo, he then slowly turned to Rosie. “You will come and get me… if he needs anything?”

“Of course,” Rosie said kindly, giving Thorin’s arm a reassuring squeeze, cementing that all was forgiven between them.

Dain had been watching the exchange from the corner, eyes alert and head tilted, and when Thorin moved towards the door, he got to his feet and came to his side, lead held in his mouth. Thorin gave him an approving pat before clipping the lead onto his collar, and then their party headed out of the door and towards the relatives’ room.

They found Sam sitting in the chair closest to the door, but he jumped to his feet as soon as they walked in. Thorin noted that he had changed out of his father’s suit into a pair of faded jeans and a t-shirt: clothes that were most definitely his.

“Thorin’s going to show you the hospital’s illustrious coffee shop, Sam,” Rosie said, eyes bright. “You’ll probably be able to get a half-decent cup of Yorkshire tea there.”

“Oh,” Sam looked nervously from Rosie to Thorin. “I don’t mean to be a bother… If you need to stay with the captain, er, with Bilbo… I don’t mind.”

“He’s sleeping at the moment,” Thorin said, with a reassuring smile. “And I’m sure he’ll be very cross with us if he finds out we left you in here on your own.”

Sam managed a smile then. “Okay… well, a cup of tea does sound very good.”

With that, Thorin and Dain led the way out of the relatives’ room. Rosie buzzed them through the doors and then they were in the lift, descending to the ground floor which housed the coffee shop, situated beyond the main reception, away from the busyness of the hospital’s foyer.

The coffee shop was quiet, now that the lunch-time rush had died down, and there were only a few people – relatives, outpatients, a couple of tired-looking nurses – scattered around the vast congregation of circular tables. Thorin weaved his way around them to the refrigerated counter that held the depleted collection of sandwiches that had survived the lunch hour.

“Captain Oakenshield!”

Thorin hadn’t noticed Joyce, the plump, white-haired septuagenarian who worked ridiculously long hours at the coffee shop, standing behind the counter – owing to the fact that she was scarcely five feet tall and had therefore been hidden behind the rows of sandwiches. Joyce had served him in uniform on one of the few times he came to the hospital straight from the AFCO and from then on she had insisted on addressing him with his rank. He suspected this was probably due to Joyce growing up as part of an army family, with two of her grandsons currently on their own tours of duty in Afghanistan.

“Hello, Joyce,” Thorin said, smiling. “Busy lunch-time?”

Joyce was one of the few people with whom Thorin found it easy to make small talk. Maybe it was because Joyce tended to do most of the actual talking for him, or maybe it was simply the maternal warmth that radiated from her that made Thorin feel safe.

“Oh, I’ve never seen folk so ravenous,” Joyce replied. “I was barely buttering sandwiches faster than they were flying off the counter and then of course they leave the place looking like Paddy’s alley. I’ve spent my afternoon clearing up after them!”

Thorin gave her a sympathetic smile. “I promise we’ll try not to make too much mess.”

Joyce’s eyes moved to Sam, standing beside Thorin. “Oh, hello, pet… Didn’t see you there.” She adjusted her very large pink and purple rimmed glasses, pushing them up her nose, regarding Sam with benevolent interest.

“This is Samwise Gamgee,” Thorin said, making introductions. “His father served with Bilbo and he’s come up from Bristol to visit. Sam, this is Joyce, who is going to make you an excellent cup of Yorkshire tea.”

“Right you are, dear,” Joyce said cheerfully, moving to the cash register and ringing up a cup of tea. “Cappuccino, extra shot for you, Captain?”

“Please,” Thorin nodded, before eyeing the remaining sandwiches.

He hadn’t eaten anything after leaving Bilbo and Sam to continue talking, and now his stomach was starting to ache in protest. Selecting a generously stuffed chicken and bacon sandwich and placing it next to the register, he then turned, expectantly, to Sam.

“Oh, yes, I s’pose I should eat somethin’” he said, shifting on the spot. “I guess I couldn’t really stomach much after… after this mornin’.”

Thorin nodded in understanding, but Sam was looking anxiously towards Joyce, as if aware that he’d said too much. The old server, however, looked completely unfazed and only offered him a kind smile. Joyce had very probably been working at the hospital when Sam was still in nappies and she had seen and heard enough to know how to be tactful.

“If there’s nothing you want in there, pet, I’ll happily put something together for you.”

“Oh, no, er… Ham and cheese will do fine,” Sam replied, a little shyly, as he collected the sandwich and placed it next to Thorin’s.

Joyce rang up the order and Thorin pulled out his wallet.

“Oh, I… I can pay for mine, Mister Thorin,” Sam said, looking panicked as he started patting at his jeans pockets, searching for change.

Thorin reached out and put a tentative hand on his shoulder. “It’s fine, Sam, this one’s on me.”

Sam straightened up. “Right… Thank you.”

“And anything for your young man today?” Joyce asked, smiling. “I think there’s a slice of coffee and walnut cake left: I can box it up for you?”

Sam seemed confused for a moment, before he silently cottoned onto the fact that Joyce was talking about Bilbo. Thorin had been referring to Bilbo as his ‘friend’ for months until his trip over to Ilkley to visit James and Linda. After their honest and heartfelt acceptance of his relationship, Thorin had dared to test the waters with Joyce… who hadn’t batted an eyelid when he had referred to Bilbo as his boyfriend for the first time. Thorin wondered if she’d known all along, but it didn’t really matter: from then on Joyce had always asked after Bilbo, calling him Thorin’s ‘young man’ as she provided a stream of freshly-baked goods for Thorin to take back up with him to the ward.

“I think he’d like that,” Thorin agreed, and Joyce added the cake to his bill.

“Got your loyalty card, Captain?”

Thorin pulled his coffee shop loyalty card from his wallet and couldn’t help but smile as Joyce vigorously added seven stamps.

“Free cappuccino next time,” Joyce said kindly, handing it back.

He was pretty sure customers were only allowed one stamp per coffee, but Joyce seemed to be working on her own system. Thorin had filled up about a dozen cards since he was discharged, and he had later discovered that Dis and Fili had had similar experiences, although the stamping of their cards was not quite as generous.

Joyce was beaming as she turned to the coffee machine behind the counter. “I’ll bring everything over to you, if you want to take a seat?”

Thorin selected a table by the window and Sam followed, sitting down opposite him. Dain settled himself by Thorin’s chair and he gave him another fond stroke, unclipping his lead. When he straightened up again, he found Sam studying the Labrador with obvious fascination. However, as soon as he realised Thorin was looking at him, the curiosity faded to embarrassment.

“Sorry… I didn’t mean to stare,” Sam said earnestly, ears going a little pink.

“It’s okay,” Thorin assured him. “I should’ve explained earlier… Dain is my psychological assistance dog, I was paired with him when I was discharged, to help me… adjust to life outside the hospital.”

“Oh, I see,” Sam said, smiling down at Dain. “Would it be… okay if I stroked him?”

“Of course, he’s very sociable, always happy to meet new people.”

Sam held his hands out, a little warily, towards Dain and Thorin gave the Labrador a gentle nudge forward. Dain’s tail started wagging as soon as Sam reached for his ears and Thorin was glad to see the young gardener relax, his shoulders sinking as he let out a breath.

“Here we are!”

Joyce had arrived with their drinks and sandwiches, carrying everything on one tray with expert ease. She slipped everything onto their table and then lowered a metal bowl full of water onto the floor next to Dain. Thorin had never asked Joyce about the bowl, but he had a sneaking suspicion she had bought it after he and Dain had become frequent visitors to the shop.

Sam reluctantly turned his attentions away from Dain and his gaze moved to the steaming cup of tea in front of him. There was a slightly awkward moment of silence and then he and Thorin began to tuck into their sandwiches. The silence became easier as they ate, but still Thorin felt he should say something to Sam… he just wasn’t sure what it is was he needed to say.

“I’ll admit, I thought your doctor was fair pullin’ my leg when I got the phone call,” Sam said, lowering his cup back onto the table. “I... I can’t quite believe I’m sat here now… in Leeds… after all this time.”

Thorin carefully wiped the side of his mouth with his napkin. “I can imagine everything this week has been, er, quite unexpected.”

Sam nodded thoughtfully. “Though I don’t think I ever quite gave up hope… that one day I’d hear somethin’ back.”

Another silence fell, but it was somehow easier than the last.

“I, er, I hope you don’t mind me askin’…” Sam began hesitantly. “I just want to understand, is all… But, why now? Why did… Bilbo decide to read my letters, after refusin’ for so long?”

Thorin straightened up in the chair, one hand discreetly reaching for Dain as his chest gave a twinge. He guessed that if Bilbo hadn’t shared the reasons behind the birth of ‘Operation Ganesh’ with Sam, it wasn’t his place to tell him.

“Things were, er, were quite difficult for Bilbo when I was discharged,” Thorin explained, trying to keep his voice even. “We decided that, to keep moving forward, we’d need to make some changes together… For Bilbo, those changes were about confronting everything that happened to him on his third tour.”

Sam had grown a little paler as Thorin spoke and his gaze had moved away to the window, the hurt of losing his father playing out so clearly across his face that Thorin had to look away, to give Sam his space to mourn… for surely today, even though it may have also brought truth and relief, had also brought about a second mourning period.

Leaving Sam to his thoughts, Thorin focused on taking careful bites of his sandwich and sipping his coffee, gaze wandering around the room as the coffee shop emptied.

“Dad told me Captain Baggins was the best commander he’d ever served under,” Sam said suddenly, drawing Thorin’s gaze back to the table.

“Oh?”

“Dad had been in the Forces for over twenty years by the time the Captain took over their unit, he’d worked under a dozen or so different captains… and he said he’s never met an officer so kind nor so humble,” Sam said, his expression only becoming brighter.

“I can believe that,” Thorin said quietly.

“I remember Dad really hated their last captain, the one before Bilbo – said he was from money, thought himself to be a real genius and too good to be where he was.”

Thorin recognised the brand of officer Sam was describing: coming from a lower income family in the north of England, he had had to put up with this kind of prejudice for most of his military career.

“But Bilbo was so different,” Sam said, his face almost growing with the onslaught of memories. “Dad said he earnt the whole unit’s respect from Day One – was all about working as a team, made sure everyone knew how important and valued they were. And he was always contactin’ us, the unit’s families, back home… I remember Mum readin’ out his letters when Dad got sick durin’ their first tour.”

Sam’s eyes were shining now as they settled on Thorin. “I… I just need Bilbo to know that at that memorial service, when I was talkin’ to everyone about what happened… Even though we was all grievin’… our thoughts were with Bilbo, hopin’ he was okay, hopin’ he knew we were all glad he’d made it out, that we didn’t for one second think this was his fault.”

Thorin swallowed, his chest twinging again as his vision grew cloudy. “I… I, er, I think it would mean a lot to Bilbo, if you told him that.”

“I’ll make sure I do,” Sam said, his tone resolute. “I… I meant to straight away, but with everythin’ being a bit chaotic in the doctor’s office, and me havin’ to go… er, to go and get some air with… with Rosie, we, er, we ended up talkin’ mostly about things that happened before Dad’s… Dad’s death.”

Thorin hadn’t missed the way Sam stuttered over his words when mentioning Rosie, and an unexpectedly fatherly fondness sprouted in his chest, wrapping itself around the twinge and vanishing it to the abyss.

“I’m sure Bilbo will understand,” he said gently, before adding, as casually as possible: “And Rosie’s a great nurse… She’s really helped Bilbo and I out this year.”

Sam’s ears were growing pink again. “Oh, yes, she’s, er, she’s… lovely. Really lovely.” He returned to his sandwich, picking distractedly at the crust, clearly weighing up his next response very carefully. “I… er, I don’t suppose she’s seeing anyone at the moment?”

Thorin tried very hard to hide his grin, but he was feeling rather pleased with himself. “She’s single.”

The pink of Sam’s ears began blossoming in his cheeks as he looked across the table at Thorin, a smile of both disbelief and anticipation appearing on his lips. “Oh, right,” he murmured. “Well… that’s good to know.”

 

…

 

The following afternoon, Thorin and Bilbo joined Sam at the nurses’ station as he signed out, ready to catch his train back down to Bristol. The morning – and the previous evening – had been happy affairs, as Bilbo and Sam took it in turns to share stories about Hamfast, some full of laughter, some quiet and poignant. It had made Thorin’s heart leap to see Bilbo so animated as he recounted his time with Hamfast, and although the sorrow lingered, it was slowly beginning to fade away as Bilbo’s painful memories of his lieutenant were replaced with those full of love and so much life.

“You make sure you give the ward a ring to let us know you’ve got home safely,” Bilbo said, as Sam returned the sign-in sheet to Rosie.

Thorin recognised his own tone of familial fondness in Bilbo’s voice, and he reached up to squeeze his shoulder as they both smiled across at Sam.

“I will, not to worry,” Sam said, and Thorin wondered at the nervousness creeping into his tone. “And I’ll make sure Mr. Bolger gives me some time off after New Year so I can come up and visit again.”

Sam rolled his shoulders, adjusting the rucksack on his back and shifted his feet with a cough. His fingers flexed around the handles of the non-descript green bag he was holding which smelled a little earthy, and Thorin decided it was best not to ask what was in it.

“Right, well, I best be off,” he said, holding his free hand out to Bilbo.

Instead of taking the hand, Bilbo pulled Sam into a firm hug, which he returned with equal warmth.

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Thorin,” Sam said, turning to him as he and Bilbo pulled away.

“And you, Sam,” Thorin smiled, stooping to offer his own hug.

The young gardener then drew away and, rather surprisingly, turned back to the nurses’ station and to Rosie.

“Rosie… I, er, I just wanted to say thank you for... for looking after me yesterday,” he said, colour instantly blossoming in his cheeks.

Rosie had gone very still, her eyes darting around the ward, before coming back to rest on Sam. Before she was able to reply, Sam was reaching into the earthy green bag and producing what was most definitely a potted cactus. It was a squat little thing, covered in delicate spikes, nestled into a shallow brown pot, and there was a gift tag hanging over the edge of it. He held the cactus out to Rosie, and his fingers were shaking.

“Oh, er, thank you…” Rosie said, accepting the gift with an expression of bewilderment.

Thorin had never heard her sound so completely stumped… and she was definitely blushing. Everyone at the nurses’ station had stopped to watch, and even the patients who had been on their way to the dayroom had turned to see what was going on.

“I… I know you said you don’t have time to water your plants, what with your night shifts and all… So I, er, I figured you might like somethin' that doesn’t need much waterin’,” Sam explained, fighting against the tremble in his voice. “It should flower soon too… I… I think it’ll look beautiful.”

There was clearly another meaning to Sam’s words which wasn’t lost on Rosie, and the nurse opened her mouth to reply, but no reply came. Instead she reached for the gift tag, but after glancing at the message for only a split second she quickly dropped it with a cough.

“Thank you, Sam,” she said, managing a smile as she held the cactus up, fingers closing around the pot. “It’s, er, it’s… very lovely. Thank you… again.”

Sam was beaming now, unperturbed by the nurse’s stuttered response. “Let me know if… if you have any trouble with it.”

“Yep… er, yes, I will,” Rosie said, clearly wishing all eyes weren’t on her. “You have a safe journey.”

Sam was still beaming as he wished Thorin and Bilbo a last goodbye and then a nurse was buzzing him out of the ward. Everyone watched him leave and the moment the doors closed, the nurses’ station erupted with excited chatter and a few cheers. Rosie suddenly found herself swamped by all the nurses in her team, all making grabby hands for the gift tag.

“Oi, sod off the lot of you!” Rosie snapped. “You’re going to break it!”

Thinking she was being stealthy, Rosie wriggled away from Poppy and Radagast, holding the cactus out in front of her – well within easy reach of Bilbo’s hand. Bilbo adeptly turned over the gift tag, flashing it at Thorin, who read ‘ _Cactus Care Helpline_ ’ followed by what was presumably Sam’s mobile phone number. Thorin couldn’t help but grin: for all Sam’s awkwardness, he couldn’t deny that this was a pretty smooth move for the gardener.

“So… he, er, bought me a cactus,” Rosie said, staring down at the little green succulent with an expression of both fondness and continuing disbelief.

“Maybe it’s because of your prickly disposition?” Bilbo suggested lightly, and Rosie swatted his arm.

“Bilbo Baggins, this is probably the most romantic thing a man has ever done for me, and you are not going to ruin it.”

“So… are you going to call him?” Thorin asked slyly, arm sliding around Bilbo’s waist and Bilbo leaned his head on his shoulder.

Everyone at the nurses’ station leaned forward with interest as they connected the dots to figure out what had been written on the tag.

“No,” Rosie said, with a sigh, and Thorin felt the ward’s pang of collective disappointment and confusion.

“But why?” Poppy murmured, looking stricken.

“It… it’d be unprofessional,” Rosie replied, unable to take her eyes off the cactus, fingers fiddling with the gift tag.

“He’s not a patient or the relative of a patient,” Bilbo put in, clearly gearing up for a fight.

Rosie opened her mouth to contradict him but then closed it again. “Alright, maybe not but… it’s hardly going to work, is it? I mean he lives in Bristol.”

“You make the West Country sound like another planet,” Bilbo grinned. “Long distance could work – loads of people do it… and, you know, we do have florists and gardens in Leeds. He might find a few reasons to move up here… and there are hospitals in Bristol.”

Rosie frowned, still toying with the tag, eyes moving over its message. “Okay, okay… but besides all that, I mean, don’t you think I’m a bit, er, too _old_ for him…?”

Bilbo rolled his eyes. “Rosie, you’re twenty-nine – five years is hardly an age gap.”

“That’s the same age gap between me and Bilbo,” Thorin added helpfully, and Rosie shot him a half-hearted glare.

“So will you call him?” Poppy asked, and everyone else seemed to lean in again with anticipation.

Rosie regarded them all, her lips pursed. “I’ll think about it.”

“Rosie,” Bilbo said, with a sigh.

“I said I’ll think about it!” Rosie said sharply, blush darkening, before turning back to the nurses’ station. “Don’t you lot have work you should be doing?”

With a few chuckles and more whispered excitement, everyone at the station began to disperse.

Rosie then looked back at Thorin and Bilbo. “And shouldn’t you two be cuddling and making heart eyes at each other somewhere?”

“Probably,” Bilbo grinned, snaking an arm around Thorin’s waist.

Rosie let out a huff, but Thorin didn’t miss the way her gaze softened as it returned to the cactus and there was definitely a smile on her lips as she turned away and carried it with the greatest care over to the nurses’ office.

 

…

 

Two days later, Thorin was slightly disappointed to find Rosie was nowhere to be seen as he came to sign in to the ward. It seemed he would have to wait to casually ask the nurse if she had encountered any trouble with caring for her cactus. He was greeted instead by Poppy, and she seemed to be almost vibrating with excitement as she handed over Thorin’s visitor badge.

“Everything okay?” Thorin asked cautiously, one eyebrow raised.

“Bilbo’s got some news for you,” Poppy replied, and she looked positively delighted about this fact.

Feeling his stomach clench with both anxiety and anticipation, Thorin nodded, his mouth hanging open slightly as he collected his badge. He walked, as if in a dream, towards Bilbo’s room and found Bilbo sitting on his bed with Dr. Grey standing at his side.

“Hello, love,” Bilbo said, green eyes bright as Thorin came to meet him.

“Poppy says you have some news for me,” Thorin whispered, throat feeling dry.

Bilbo’s eyes flitted to Dr. Grey as an enormous smile appeared. “Gandalf and I have been talking… and it’s been decided that I’m going to be allowed an escorted leave!”

And Thorin promptly burst into tears.

“Thorin…?” Bilbo looked shocked, immediately reaching for him. “Oh, love… I didn’t mean to make you cry. Come here…”

Bilbo wrapped his arms around him, and Thorin sobbed, quite unattractively, into his shoulder, completely overcome with emotion as pure happiness surged through him from the top of his head to the tips of his toes.  

“Hey, shhh…” Bilbo soothed, his voice catching. “You’re going to get me going in a minute.”

Thorin pulled away, letting Bilbo gently brush the tears from his cheeks with his thumbs, holding his face in his hands. “You’re… you’re going to come to my house?” Thorin mumbled, voice still thick with emotion.

“Yes, I’m going to come to your house,” Bilbo smiled, kissing his nose. “Not for another couple of weeks, but it’s definitely going to happen.”

“Another couple of weeks?” Thorin asked, brow furrowed. Prim and Drogo would be staying with them by that point, but he quickly schooled his features into a neutral expression, not wanting to give anything away.

“Oh… er, if that’s not a good time…” Bilbo said uncertainly, the light quickly fading from his eyes.

“No, no, it’s perfect timing,” Thorin smiled, desperate to reassure him. “It’s perfect, you’re perfect.”

Bilbo’s gaze was once more bright and warm as he leaned their foreheads together. “Couldn’t have got here without you, though,” he whispered.

And thus Thorin found himself bursting into tears again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Six chapters to go! :D
> 
> And in the next update Thorin will be joining Bilbo for a session with Dr. Cox… (Heh heh heh).


	52. Chapter 52

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why, would you look at that, a rating change! Please be aware that there are smutty times after the section break. 
> 
> Also, Dr. Cox is secret Bagginshield trash, pass it on.

Thorin stared straight ahead down the corridor as he and Bilbo walked hand in hand towards Dr. Cox’s office. The corridor only seemed to be getting longer, their destined doorway jumping further and further away from them the closer they came to it - like some kind of tormenting optical illusion. Fingers flexing around Dain’s lead and letting out a controlled breath, Thorin once again reminded himself that he was not going to the executioner… just his first sex therapy session.

They were only about four feet from Dr. Cox’s door when Thorin felt a tug on his hand, and he turned to find Bilbo had come to a stop beside him.

“Okay?” he murmured, brows knitted, ignoring the twinge in his chest.

Bilbo reached out and closed his other hand around Thorin’s, which still held Dain’s lead, pulling him round so that they were facing each other. His expression was set, serious.

“Thorin, I want you to promise me something,” he said, tone unmistakably firm as his green eyes locked on Thorin’s blue ones.

Thorin nodded, still frowning. “Alright.”

“If, at any point during this session, you feel uncomfortable or upset… If you want to leave, or need a break… I want you to promise that you’ll tell me.”

“Of course I will,” Thorin replied, smiling as his shoulders sank with relief: he’d been worried there for a moment.

Bilbo, however, was still eyeing him with a sobering look. “I mean it, Thorin… I don’t want you to sit there on the verge of a panic attack but not saying anything because you think it’ll upset me if you have to leave.”

Thorin squeezed Bilbo’s hands with a sigh. “I’m not going to do that, Bilbo,” he whispered. “Look, you know this… this session isn’t exactly going to be easy for me, but I want to be here… I really, honestly do - for you, for both of us.”

Bilbo opened his mouth to speak, but Thorin spoke over him: “I promise I’ll tell you if I need to leave… I promise I will.”

Bilbo’s solemn expression finally melted away into a warm, affectionate smile. He rose onto his toes so that he could kiss the side of Thorin’s mouth and whisper ‘I love you’ in his ear.

“Love you too,” Thorin mumbled, kissing Bilbo’s nose before he could pull away, making it twitch in a way that always made him grin.

And at that moment the door behind them opened and Dr. Cox appeared in the corridor. Thorin immediately noted the camel-coloured heels which matched her belted pencil dress, but his filter mercifully remained intact this time around.

“I thought I heard voices,” the doctor smiled. “Would you like to come in?”

Thorin followed Bilbo and Dr. Cox inside, stopping just beyond the door to take in these new surroundings. The office was smaller than Dr. Grey’s, but seemed all the more comfortable and welcoming for it. Instead of leather armchairs, there were two black fabric sofas sitting either side of a rectangular, dark wood coffee table. Thorin thought Fili would appreciate the patterned cushions clustered in the sofas’ corners.

Behind the sofas was Dr. Cox’s desk, complete with computer, stationery, diary and… Thorin did a double-take. Yes, that was a very phallic-looking desk tidy. Quickly looking away, his gaze drifted to the large set of bookshelves behind the door, and now he found himself confronted with several, well, _interesting_ wooden statues standing guard amongst the books along with… Oh God, were those plastic models of…? Yes, yes they were.

Not quite sure where on earth he should be looking, Thorin settled for the very beautiful painting hanging on the wall behind Dr. Cox’s desk. The painting’s muted colour palette matched the office’s pale gold walls. There were two figures embracing, their bodies rendered with large, impressionistic strokes, and Thorin quite liked the fact that it was impossible to determine the gender of either person in the painting.

“It’s a beautiful painting, isn’t it?” Dr. Cox asked suddenly, and Thorin jolted, feeling as if he was being returned to his body after a strange sensation of floating.

“Oh… Er, yes, I… I like it,” Thorin stammered, face feeling hot as Bilbo brushed his arm.

“The artist was someone I met whilst I was doing a year’s research in Amsterdam,” Dr. Cox explained, smiling kindly as she moved over to her bookshelves. “And I know my office’s décor is quite a lot to take in… If there’s anything you’d like me to move…?”

“No, no,” Thorin insisted, probably a little too quickly. “It’s… everything is fine.”

“Okay, why don’t you both take a seat?” 

Thorin let Bilbo lead him over to the sofa and they sat down, knees almost touching. Dain leant against Thorin’s leg, bright brown eyes peering around the unfamiliar room, looking very excited to be there. Thorin scratched his ears and Dain tilted his head to stare up at him, tongue lolling out of his mouth as he panted.

“Can I get anyone a coffee?”

At Dr. Cox’s question, Thorin realised that there was a flashy-looking silver coffee machine nestled into the corner of one of the book shelves. The doctor looked across at him expectantly.

“Coffee?” Thorin asked, unable to hide his surprise. Dr. Grey had never offered him even Ered Luin’s best brown canal water during their sessions.

“I’ve got cappuccino, latté, and mocha pods… Or I can do you a hot chocolate, if you’d prefer?”

“Er, a cappuccino would be nice… thank you,” Thorin replied, tangling his fingers in the fur of Dain’s neck.

“Not a problem… Bilbo?”

“Oh, I’d love a cappuccino too, thanks.”

Thorin glanced over at Bilbo, the question clearly shown by his furrowed brow.

“My caffeine ban’s lifted for my sessions with Dr. Cox – just another perk of sex therapy,” he grinned, waggling his eyebrows.

Dr. Cox laughed as she fitted two mugs under the dual spout of her coffee machine and set it whirring to life. “I’m glad you think so, Bilbo.”

“No novelty mugs today?” Bilbo asked, peering over at the machine.

“They’re all in the dishwasher in the nurses’ office,” Dr. Cox answered, expression wry. “Someone is going to get a shock when they empty it later.”

Thorin was secretly quite relieved that he was being spared one of Dr. Cox’s ‘novelty mugs’, but still he was glad Bilbo seemed so at ease with the doctor. For all Thorin was the one feeling nervous, he knew Bilbo’s first sessions must have been difficult, and he was pleased the younger man had done nothing but smile since they entered the office.

Dr. Cox lifted both mugs from the machine. “Do you take sugar, Thorin?”

“Oh, er, no… thank you,” Thorin replied, and so Dr. Cox carried the mugs over to the coffee table, setting them down on square leather coasters and taking a seat on the sofa opposite.

Thorin waited for Bilbo to reach out and take his mug before doing the same. The coffee was silky smooth, rich but not bitter, and Thorin found he had to take a fair few sips before he could put the mug down again.

“This is, er, good coffee,” he offered, discreetly wiping his beard with his thumb.

“It is, isn’t it?” Dr. Cox agreed. “Although that machine has it in for me: it almost ruined this dress before my session this morning.”

“My machine at home is doing its best to make my niece lose one of her fingers,” Thorin replied, trying not to smile at the memory of Fili’s very creative swearing earlier that week. He wasn’t exactly sure what a ‘certified wank basket’ was, but he knew their machine was one of them.

“Oh, Bilbo’s told me quite a bit about Fili… I hear she’s hoping to study Anthropology?”

“Anthropology with Politics… She’s, er, she’s very clever,” Thorin said, chest involuntarily swelling with pride.

“You know, I’ve actually met Fili – it was quite a long time ago now. We were both standing at the nurses’ station when she was waiting to sign in. She helped me untangle one of my necklaces that had gotten caught in my dress.”

Thorin’s pride only grew, bubbling up full of light and warmth inside him, and it was then that he realised he had actually been making small talk with the doctor… He suspected that this had all been intentional, to try and put him more at ease, but still he couldn’t deny that he was pleased with himself.

“So, I have something I’ve been wanting to show both of you,” Dr. Cox announced, and then she was leaning forward, reaching under the coffee table. “And I promise it’s not as scary as it sounds.”

Bilbo laughed; Thorin only set down his mug, stomach tightened just a little.

Dr. Cox pulled out a large, nondescript cardboard box and placed it down in front of them on the table. “Now, unfortunately they’re not hand puppets, but still I thought you might like to have a look.”

Dr. Cox lifted the lid to reveal her selection of custom-made Barbie dolls. There were about a dozen male and female dolls, of varying skin and hair colours, and their body shapes – which also differed – were far more realistic than was to be expected of such dolls. Bilbo reached forward first and picked up a male doll which had broad shoulders and short, dark hair. Thorin was surprised to find that it also had a beard. He wasn’t sure if Bilbo had intentionally picked out the doll which most resembled him, but still he found himself leaning forward and taking out one of the shorter male dolls which had sandy-coloured hair. Dain sniffed at the doll with interest and so Thorin held it higher, suspecting this model wasn’t going for your usual toy shop prices.

Another way the doll differed from the norm was the amount of joints and hinges all over its body – at its elbows, its wrists, its knees, even at its waist so it could bend like… well, like a real person. The dolls were all wearing black underwear and Thorin found himself running a finger over his doll’s torso, inspecting the various joins and bits of unexpected detail. He then noticed Dr. Cox watching him and coughed.

He didn’t have time to be properly embarrassed before Bilbo was suddenly holding his doll out in front of him with a smirk. “Look, it’s doing Downward Facing Dog!”

And Bilbo had indeed moved the doll into the yoga position: it was bent at the waist with its arse in the air.

“His feet need to be flatter,” Thorin commented, trying to sound casual.

“Ah, so they do…” Bilbo adjusted the doll’s feet.

Unable to stop himself smiling, Thorin quickly adjusted his own doll’s limbs. “Cow pose,” he stated, holding it up for Bilbo.

“That’s one thing to call it,” Bilbo grinned, eyeing the doll with obvious amusement.

Thorin realised, far too late, that his doll was now down on all fours in a _very_ compromising position.

“Wait…” Thorin stuttered, trying not to look too horrified. “ I didn’t mean to…” He quickly rearranged his doll’s position into something more dignified.

Dr. Cox was watching them both with a very Dr. Grey-esque knowing glint in her dark eyes.

“Is this, er, some kind of… psychological test?” Thorin asked, frowning down at the doll.

“Oh gosh, no, not at all,” Dr. Cox reassured him. “It is sometimes interesting to see what people will do with the dolls when given the freedom to play, but I usually just use them as an icebreaker in sessions.”

“Icebreaker?” Thorin murmured weakly, looking down at the collection of very lifelike, very flexible Barbie dolls.

Dr. Cox smiled. “I know, maybe I should have just gone with a joke or an amusing anecdote?”

“Oh, no… no… they’re, er, they’re great…” Thorin replied, his eyes returning to the doll and trying not to choke when he noticed there appeared to be hinge _on its mouth_.

After a few moments, Bilbo leaned forward and returned his doll to the box. Thorin followed suit, sensing that their session proper was about to begin. Dr. Cox fitted the lid on the box and then slid it back under the coffee table by their feet.

“Now, Thorin, I spoke to Bilbo about this when we first began our sessions… And I just want to explain that if at any point you would like to take a break, or like to bring the session to an end, all you need to do is tell us,” Dr. Cox said, tone gentle as she folded her hands into her lap. “Equally, if there’s anything that is making you uncomfortable, anything you would rather not discuss, questions you would prefer not to answer, just let me know… Okay?”

“Okay,” Thorin said, swallowing, sneaking a glance at Bilbo, who offered a comforting smile.

There was a moment of almost contemplative silence, and then Dr. Cox began: “As you know, Bilbo and I have been working together for a few sessions, and I think Bilbo would like to tell you what we’ve covered so far.”

Bilbo shifted on the sofa beside him, clearly preparing himself, and Thorin realised this request was not unexpected – Bilbo knew Dr. Cox would begin their joint session by asking him to outline his progress in their previous meetings.

“So,” Bilbo said, clearing his throat, suddenly looking anxious. “Dr. Cox and I have been, er, trying to get to the bottom of why I have… why I…”

Thorin’s hand slid across the sofa and settled over Bilbo’s, hoping this would give his boyfriend the courage he needed.

Bilbo glanced down at their joined hands and a small smile appeared, before he drew in a deep breath. “Why I have issues with reciprocation during sex… and the, er, the problem seems to be two-fold.”

“Okay,” Thorin said softly, when Bilbo paused.

“The first reason is that… well, for so long I felt that I didn’t deserve pleasure. All part of my, er, ideas of ‘self-punishment’, really. I stopped allowing myself sexual pleasure as just another way of expressing… expressing how much I hated myself.”

Thorin’s fingers closed over Bilbo’s as he felt an ache unfurl deep inside his chest. He rubbed his thumb over the back of Bilbo’s hand. “Bilbo…” he whispered, unsure he was able to voice just how wrong these thought-processes were.

“But quite a few things have happened recently that have changed my perspective on all that,” Bilbo continued, and the genuine smile that appeared on his face made Thorin’s heart leap. “It’s been, er, very difficult… untangling three years of self-hatred… But Dr. Cox and I think we’ve made a fair number of breakthroughs.”

Bilbo looked over at the doctor and she dipped her chin with a warm smile.

“And the second reason…” Bilbo sucked in a short breath. “Was that I was scared of what might happen when I climaxed.”

Thorin raised an eyebrow, not quite sure what Bilbo meant, and trying to ignore his own embarrassment at talking about Bilbo coming when Dr. Cox was sitting across the coffee table.

“When I lose mental control, bad things happen,” Bilbo elaborated. “Like when I sleep, I get nightmares… or sometimes I black-out or dissociate… So I was worried that when I came, I would be vulnerable… and I was, quite frankly, terrified of what my subconscious might let into that mental blank.”

Thorin nodded, squeezing Bilbo’s hand. “I understand,” he murmured, and he really did. He could clearly remember the fear of falling asleep, of losing control, of not feeling entirely sane and being worried it might get so much worse. He wanted to ask Bilbo how he felt now, having noticed that he had been speaking in the past tense, but he also felt that was a bit of a ‘therapist question’ to ask… and he was always loath to play the therapist with Bilbo.

“Dr. Cox and I have had some pretty intensive sessions,” Bilbo said, as if his and Thorin’s telepathy had started up again, and then a grin appeared. “I know I still have some way to go… but I’ve also been doing a lot of ‘homework’.”

“Homework?” Thorin asked carefully, knowing this was most definitely a euphemism, but for what, he wasn’t sure.

Now Bilbo was actually looking sheepish, and his gaze flitted to Dr. Cox.

“I don’t mind explaining, Bilbo,” the doctor offered kindly.

“No… No, it’s alright,” Bilbo said, turning back to Thorin. “Okay, so, a week or so ago, I masturbated… for the first time in a very, very long time… And I’ve, er, managed it quite a few times since.”

Thorin could feel the colour rushing into his burning cheeks and he choked on a breath. “Oh… right…” He wasn’t sure what else he was supposed to say, and he didn’t think Bilbo would appreciate his congratulations… although this was clearly a very positive step.

“Dr. Cox suggested we didn’t have a joint session until I’d, er, reached this particular goal so… yes, here we are,” Bilbo said, before his smile turned a little wicked. “And thanks again for those holiday snaps.”

Thorin’s eyes widened. “Wait… the photos from Morocco… You asked me to bring them in so…?”

Bilbo smiled sweetly up at him.

“Oh,” Thorin replied, very eloquently.

“The one with you on the diving board was very… _useful_.”

Thorin choked again, worried the skin might actually burn off his face. He was so used to exchanging photos with Bilbo that it hadn’t occurred to him for one moment that Bilbo might use the Morocco pictures for _that_. Even though he had used the photo of Bilbo in his see-through tank top a few times for… Thorin stopped that thought in its tracks, as if he was worried Bilbo or Dr. Cox might actually be able to read his mind.

“But…” he began, throat feeling dry, “But everything went okay when you…” Just say the word, Thorin thought, you’re literally in a room full of dick-shaped objects and very flexible Barbie dolls, just say it… “ _Masturbated_ … you weren’t triggered or… or scared?”

Bilbo squeezed his hand again, looking quite pleased with Thorin’s question. “I won’t deny that the whole thing was pretty nerve-wracking at first… But, well, practice really does make perfect.”

“Okay,” Thorin replied, managing a smile despite the blush darkening his cheeks. “I’m…” He decided against telling Bilbo he was proud of him for masturbating successfully, even though he really was, and instead elected for: “I’m glad it… it all went okay.”

“Thanks, love,” Bilbo said quietly.

“So, now you know what Bilbo and I have been up to in our sessions,” Dr. Cox said, turning to Thorin, “I wondered, Thorin, if you’d like to share any of your thoughts on these joint sessions?”

“Thoughts?” Thorin asked quietly, straightening up.

“Sorry, that was very vague of me,” Dr. Cox apologised. “What I mean is do you have any worries or queries about these sessions? Any goals you would like to set for yourself or both of you?”

Thorin swallowed, mind slowly processing Dr. Cox’s questions. There were many things he could have answered, many things that had been churning around in his mind in the early hours of that morning, but Thorin decided to go with the thing he was really the most worried about, that was most important to him.

“S-Sometimes…” Thorin looked from Bilbo to Dr. Cox, feeling a knot tighten in his stomach. “Sometimes I’m worried that when Bilbo and I… have sex, because it’s all one-sided, I get all the pleasure in the relationship and… and I feel selfish.”

Dr. Cox nodded. “Bilbo, would you like to reply to this?”

Bilbo lifted Thorin’s hand up onto his knee, running his thumb over his knuckles, making Thorin turn to him.

“Sweetheart, I don’t ever want you to think you’re being selfish,” Bilbo said calmly. “You know now why I haven’t wanted you to reciprocate, and none of that is your fault… I really, really enjoy giving you pleasure, and I’ve never resented the fact that it hasn’t been able to work both ways.”

“Okay,” Thorin said, the knot in his stomach slowly untying itself. “But… I… I’d really like to be able to give you pleasure too.”

“That sounds like an excellent goal to set for these sessions,” Dr. Cox said approvingly, as Bilbo and Thorin turned back towards her.

Bilbo squeezed Thorin’s hand again. “Agreed.”

“Is there anything else you’d like to share, Thorin?”

Thorin shifted on the sofa, one hand scratching at Dain’s ears. Dain licked his fingers, panting with absolute contentment, and Thorin was quite glad the Labrador seemed to be completely oblivious to what was being discussed. “No… er, I think that’s it.”

“Okay… Have the two of you had any discussions with each other about your sexual experiences? About your likes and dislikes in the bedroom?”

Thorin and Bilbo exchanged a glance. “No… I suppose not,” Bilbo admitted.

“In that case, I’d like us to have a little chat about that now, if that’s alright?”

Bilbo nodded, followed by Thorin’s warier nod.

“I promise it’s nothing to worry about, I just think it would be a good idea if you both became acquainted with each other’s turn ons and turn offs before we start putting things into practice... and that was another euphemism, sorry about that.”

Bilbo smiled. “We’ll forgive you.”

“So, how about we discuss turn ons first… who’d like to start?”

Thorin immediately looked to Bilbo with nothing short of pleading in his eyes, and Bilbo chuckled. “I think that’d be me… Hmm, okay, well… I really like Thorin’s voice.”

“My voice?” Thorin murmured, looking to Bilbo with surprise.

“‘Dirty talk’ is a great way to keep an open channel of communication during sex,” Dr. Cox commented, clearly pleased with Bilbo’s answer.

“Oh…” Thorin felt his cheeks colour again as his gaze dropped into his lap. “I, er… I don’t think I’m very good at that… I never know what to say.”

“Love, you could probably get me off by reciting the phone book,” Bilbo put in, giving him a wink, and Thorin tried not to splutter, knowing he was growing redder by the minute.

Dr. Cox hid her amused smile very well as she turned to him. “‘Dirty talk’ doesn’t always have to be explicit,” she explained, voice soft and patient. “For example, you could simply ask your partner questions: ‘Does that feel good?’, ‘What would you like me to do?’, ‘Is this alright?’.”

Thorin found himself nodding, trying very hard not to picture Bilbo spread out beneath him whilst he mumbled all the questions Dr. Cox had listed into the warm skin of his neck.

“Questions will also help you to gauge your partner’s comfort and enjoyment, and to ensure continued consent throughout.”

“O-okay,” Thorin said, wishing his voice hadn’t sounded higher than usual. “I, er, I can ask questions.”

“Equally, giving your partner feedback is also important,” Dr. Cox continued. “Rest assured you don’t have to wax lyrical, but saying ‘That feels good’ or ‘I like that’ is an excellent way to maintain a dialogue… You could also offer encouragement, like ‘You’re amazing at that’ or ‘You’re doing so well’.”

The words might have come out of Dr. Cox’s mouth, but Thorin was already hearing Bilbo saying them… telling him he was _doing so well_ , that he was _amazing at that_ … He straightened up on the sofa and promptly tried to picture Radagast naked.

“I… I think hearing encouragement would help,” he said quietly. “Just, er, just so I know I’m… that Bilbo’s okay.”

Dr. Cox smiled and looked to Bilbo.

“Of course, love,” Bilbo said, and there was a strange glint in his green eyes. “I don’t think I’d get tired of telling you _you’re amazing_.”

Thorin narrowed his eyes at Bilbo, throwing out the word _Judas_ , just in case there was really a telepathic link there.

“And you can always fall back on good old-fashioned imperatives, to give your partner direction,” Dr. Cox added. “So that would be things like ‘Don’t stop’, ‘Keep doing that’, ‘Harder’, ‘Faster’… I think you get the picture.”

Oh yes, Thorin very much got the picture, and he was sure various food stuffs could now be cooked to perfection on his face. Still, he battled through his embarrassment to answer: “Thank you… for, er, for the advice… I feel like I should’ve been writing it down.”

“Ah, well, I can actually help you there,” Dr. Cox replied, and then she was getting to her feet.

She moved over to the bookshelves and pulled down a square, pocket-sized volume. Returning to the sofa, she handed it over to Thorin. The cover read: _What Are You Wearing? A Guide to Talking Dirty_. And Dr. Cox was one of its co-authors.

“That was my first published work,” Dr. Cox said, with a wry smile. “I’ll let you borrow it until our next session.”

“Er, thank you.” Thorin placed the book on the sofa’s arm. He’d have to sneak that into his bedside drawer later.

“So, we’ve covered ‘dirty talk’ as a definite turn on for both of you… Thorin, would you like to share something you enjoy doing with a partner?”

Thorin stared back at Dr. Cox, his mind drawing a blank. Not only had he and Bilbo not discussed their likes and dislikes, but he wasn’t sure he’d ever had this conversation with any of the men he’d slept with. Sex hadn’t been something that was discussed… it had just _happened_. None of his sexual partners had ever actually asked him what he wanted before. His thoughts wandered back to the night before he was discharged for the first time… and he could see himself sliding Bilbo’s hoodie from his shoulders, could remember the thrill of being allowed to undress him.

“I… er, I really liked undressing Bilbo, before, when we were…” Thorin trailed off. He wasn’t sure why he felt guilty for admitting to Dr. Cox that he and Bilbo had been intimate on the ward… He guessed the doctor was not only aware of it from Bilbo’s previous sessions, but also probably an indirect instigator of a lot of the ward’s sexual activity.

Dr. Cox waited patiently to see if he was going to finish his sentence. When it became clear this wasn’t going to happen, she offered her reply: “Undressing each other is an essential part of foreplay. If this is something you enjoy, Thorin, I suggest you both take your time over it… Undressing your partner slowly, and with care, builds the sexual tension and feelings of anticipation. You could also use gentle kissing and touching throughout to make sure you’re getting each other properly aroused and ready.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Bilbo said, grinning across the sofa at Thorin, and in his mind’s eye Thorin saw himself completely disregarding all of Dr. Cox’s very helpful advice and simply ripping the clothes off Bilbo’s body.

“And back to you, Bilbo… any other turn ons you’d like to share?”

Bilbo seemed to think for a moment, and then he bit his lip in a way that made Thorin want a cold shower.

“Okay… right, well, I really love my nipples being played with… before, during, after… It’s just always been something I’ve enjoyed.”

Thorin turned to Bilbo with a look of confusion, stomach twisting as he heard Bilbo’s shouts of _‘Th-Thorin! Stop! Stop!’_.

“Are you alright, Thorin?” Dr. Cox asked carefully. Bilbo also looked uncertain.

“Oh, er… It’s just… before, when I was… I was…” Just say it, Thorin scolded himself. “I was sucking Bilbo’s nipple, but he asked me to stop… we had to stop… So I thought…”

“Oh, love,” Bilbo said gently, taking Thorin’s hand. “I had to ask you to stop because I was scared you might actually make me come, just from that… It wasn’t because I didn’t like it, I did like it… and back then that was the problem.”

Realisation dawned on Thorin’s face. “You… you were scared about losing control?”

Bilbo nodded.

“Sorry,” Thorin mumbled, gaze moving to his and Bilbo’s joined hands.

“You don’t need to apologise,” Bilbo replied firmly. “You didn’t know, and you stopped as soon as I asked you to.”

“Okay,” Dr. Cox said, addressing both of them. “In light of this, when you’re partaking in nipple play in the future, Bilbo, I think you need to make sure you communicate your comfort level to Thorin regularly… and Thorin, you need to trust that Bilbo will tell you the moment it stops being enjoyable.”

Both Bilbo and Thorin nodded. Thorin thought they might be done talking about Bilbo’s nipples, but it seemed Dr. Cox had some more questions: “Is there anything in particular you like about nipple play, Bilbo? Rubbing? Sucking? Biting?”

“Oh, rubbing and sucking are… er, are lovely,” Bilbo replied, actually avoiding Thorin’s eye this time. “Licking is also good… But I, um, I’d rather leave out the biting. I’m not really a big fan of, well, pain during sex.”

Thorin’s heart sank as Bilbo paled. Of course there were reasons for this, and Thorin moved closer to him on the sofa so that their thighs were touching. “That’s okay,” he said softly, and Bilbo smiled up at him.

Dr. Cox’s expression was sympathetic, but held no pity. “So I think that’s that one covered… Thorin, would you like to tell us about anything else that turns you on?”

Thorin once more became pensive, wondering if there was anything he did like, but hadn’t been able to tell his previous partners. It took him a few moments, but he finally settled on something… and his cheeks were already bright red by the time he opened his mouth.

“My ears,” he said, in no more than a whisper.

“Your ears?” Dr. Cox asked, checking she had heard him correctly.

“Yes,” Thorin mumbled, and Bilbo looked genuinely intrigued.

“Do you like them being touched?” Dr. Cox prompted. “Kissed? Licked? Sucked?”

Thorin wasn’t sure where to look as he answered: “Erm, yes… all of those.”

“Okay,” Dr. Cox smiled. “What about having your ears nibbled or nipped?”

“Yes, er, yes, that sounds… good,” Thorin said, with a cough.

“And do you like your ears being touched during sex as well as foreplay?”

Thorin nodded, and then, desperately hoping to end this unexpected ‘ear interrogation’ before he spontaneously combusted, he said: “Is it okay if we, er, stop talking about my ears now?”

“Of course,” Dr. Cox replied, seeming pleased that he’d actually voiced his discomfort. “No more questions about your ears.”

There was a moment of silence and Thorin scratched at Dain’s neck. When Bilbo leant his head against his shoulder for a brief moment, he pecked a kiss to his forehead.

“Right, I’m glad you’ve got a few things to bear in mind regarding your turn ons in the bedroom… Now I’d like to discuss any turn offs you should both be aware of.”

Thorin felt Bilbo freeze up a little at his side, and he knew it was his turn to step up and go first. “I’m not really a fan of my, er, my scar being touched… without warning anyway. It’s er, it’s better if I know it’s going to happen.”

Dr. Cox nodded thoughtfully. “Of course, so I think that’s very much another case of maintaining a dialogue during sex… and am I right in thinking that if Bilbo’s mouth is otherwise occupied, you’d rather he didn’t touch your scar at all, instead of giving a non-verbal signal that he might be about to touch it?”

Thorin thought he might have momentarily lost all mental capacity when Dr. Cox said ‘if Bilbo’s mouth is otherwise occupied’, but he still managed to collect himself in time to reply with a slightly shaky: “Y-yes, I’d rather Bilbo… didn’t touch it.”

Bilbo twined their fingers together. “No problem, love.”

There was another silence and Bilbo shifted on the sofa again, his fingers twitching around Thorin’s.

“Bilbo,” Dr. Cox said gently. “Is there anything you’d like to share with Thorin?”

Bilbo’s eyes slowly moved from the doctor back to Thorin. “Well… er, like I said before, I don’t really want to be… hurt during sex. So I’m afraid that rules out, you know, a good old spanking… and all things BDSM for us.”

Bilbo’s voice had been strained as he attempted a jovial tone, the lightness not reaching his eyes, and Thorin turned so that his knees were lightly pressing against Bilbo’s. “I’d never hurt you,” he whispered.

Bilbo smiled up at him, and although it was a small smile, it was genuine. “I know.”

“Thank you for sharing that, Bilbo,” Dr. Cox said, voice low and calm.

“Also…” Bilbo began, and Thorin straightened up, stomach twinging. “I know I’ve mentioned this to you before, but never really explained why…” He drew in a controlled breath. “I don’t like you putting your hands in my hair because… because when I was too weak to walk on my own, Azog’s men used to drag me from room to room by my hair.”

The ache was throbbing in Thorin’s chest again, and he was desperate to pull Bilbo into his arms.

“And… and when I get frustrated or angry with myself, or sometimes when I have an episode… I pull out my own hair… So, yes, I’d rather you didn’t touch my hair during sex.”

“I promise I won’t,” Thorin said softly. “And thank you… for telling me.”

Bilbo was looking pale again and so Thorin slowly slipped an arm around his back.

“I think we should take a quick break,” Dr. Cox said, as if she knew the direction of Thorin’s thoughts. “I’ll just check my emails, let me know if either of you need anything.”

With that, the doctor tactfully withdrew to her desk, giving Thorin and Bilbo some space, and as she became absorbed by her computer screen, at least the illusion of privacy. Thorin took the opportunity to pull Bilbo closer and the younger man snuggled into his chest, wrapping one hand around the collar of his plaid shirt.

“Okay?” Thorin asked quietly.

“I’m resisting the urge,” Bilbo murmured in reply.

Thorin quirked an eyebrow, peering down at him. “The urge to what?”

“To touch your ears.”

Thorin chuckled at that, although he was also trying not to imagine what it would feel like… to have the pads of Bilbo’s thumbs rubbing his ear lobes whilst… Stop it, Thorin, just stop, he scolded himself. He didn’t think Dr. Cox would appreciate it if she looked up from her computer to find him and Bilbo at it on her sofa.

They stayed cuddled up, murmuring quietly to each other, for what felt like a long time. Thorin occasionally caught Dr. Cox glancing over at them with a fond smile, and then finally the doctor closed her emails and returned to the sofa. Thorin and Bilbo straightened up, although Thorin kept one arm wrapped around Bilbo’s back.

“Right, I have a suggestion for your first joint homework,” Dr. Cox began.

“Oh?” Bilbo looked more than intrigued, Thorin was doing his best not blush again.

“I think we need to try something that will bridge the gap between Bilbo being able to give himself sexual pleasure and you, Thorin, being able to give that pleasure,” Dr. Cox explained. “So what I would like to suggest is that the two of you try your hand at phone sex at some point this week.”

Thorin’s eyes widened. _Phone sex?_ He wasn’t sure what he was expecting Dr. Cox to suggest, but this thought hadn’t occurred to him.

“With phone sex, it means that you, Bilbo, will still be in control of your own pleasure, but Thorin will also be very much involved,” Dr. Cox continued. “I’m hoping it will be a safe, comfortable way for you both to explore your sexual relationship, and to work on creating a dialogue during sex, before you move forward to physical reciprocation… How does this sound? Any thoughts?”

“I think it’s a good idea,” Bilbo said, smiling, before turning to look at Thorin, concern flickering across his features. “… Would you like to try it, love?”

Thorin swallowed, tongue feeling thick in his mouth. “Y-yes… I’d… I’m just… not sure I’ll… be any good at it?”

“Well, I don’t mind taking the lead,” Bilbo said, and he was actually grinning now. “And I’ll make sure I keep telling you how _good_ at everything you are, what a _wonderful_ boyfriend you are, how much I _like_ what you’re –”

“Okay, okay,” Thorin said quickly, his cheeks burning. “Phone sex is… is fine.”

Dr. Cox offered him a reassuring smile. “Just remember that with sex, not everything always goes to plan, or runs smoothly… There will be moments that seem to ruin the mood, that are awkward, that make you laugh… But it’s okay to just take a breath and start again.”

Thorin nodded. “Okay.”

“And know that you will probably never kill the mood as much as my fiancé did when he knocked himself out whilst trying to get undressed.”

Bilbo snorted and Thorin’s eyes flitted to Dr. Cox’s left hand, where there was indeed a beautiful silver engagement ring with a single diamond.

“How did he knock himself out?” Bilbo asked.

“He got caught in his own jumper, tripped over, and banged his head on our chest of drawers,” Dr. Cox replied. “And that is one of five stories I’m allowed to tell my patients. I can assure you I have many more tales about awkward moments and killing the mood that I’ve promised never to share.”

“Right,” Bilbo said, grinning across at Thorin. “So… as long as neither one of us loses consciousness, we’ll have done quite well, really.”

 

…

 

The last time Thorin had phone sex, he was twenty-one, and back at home on leave. He had waited until his parents had gone out shopping for baby things with Dis and Vili, and then grabbed their ancient, mint-green plastic phone and dragged it into the cupboard under the stairs. By the light of a dim, flickering lightbulb, Thorin had dialled the number for another soldier in his unit who had returned home to Durham. The phone sex had been brief and unsatisfying, full of swearing and grunts and groans, and not much actual talking.

Finding himself, seventeen years later, lying on his bed in a room full of autumnal afternoon sunlight, Thorin hoped this next experience would go a little better. He had settled Dain on the floor by his bedside table, keeping the Labrador out of his line of sight, knowing he didn’t really want to be staring at Dain whilst he was talking to Bilbo. Everyone else in the house was at school, and wouldn’t be home for another few hours, so at least he knew he wasn’t going to be interrupted. His hand was poised around his mobile phone and the square, pocket-sized guide to dirty talk was within easy reach. He had politely declined Dr. Cox’s offer of two DVDs which featured couples having phone sex, but now, lying there with his heart pummelling his ribcage, Thorin wondered if he should have accepted the DVDs without comment.

He knew that at this very moment Bilbo would be settling himself in the ward’s second on call room, which Dr. Cox was allowed to commandeer during the day shift when her patients had ‘homework’ to be doing. She had also given Bilbo a mobile phone which her patients used for ‘homework’.

His fingers felt a little sweaty as Thorin flexed them on the bed and his throat felt raw and dry as he swallowed. His gaze was moving over the white expanse of the ceiling above him when the phone in his hand started vibrating, sending a bolt of electricity right to his chest. Trying not to actually drop the phone, Thorin managed to hit the ‘accept’ button and lifted it to his ear.

“H-hello…?”

“Hi, is that Thorin?”

“Erm… yes?”

Bilbo chuckled on the other end of the line. “Good, good… Just wanted to check who I was speaking to before I launched into anything.”

Thorin forced himself to let out a slow breath. “Okay.”

“So… _what are you wearing_?”

Thorin’s gaze flicked down to his jeans and t-shirt. “Erm…”

Bilbo laughed again. “That was a joke, love… We don’t have to get started straight away.”

And Thorin could already feel himself blushing. “Oh… right.”

“How are you?”

“Er… good, I’m good.”

“Did you hear from Lieutenant-Colonel Whitetree this morning?”

“Oh… er, yes. My first shift is on Friday.”

“That’s really great… Do you know what you’ll be doing? Sitting in on interviews again?”

“I think so… but he’s also asked me to be, er, a kind of unofficial mentor for Heather – you know the girl who applied to the Royal Engineering Corps?”

“Oh, yes, I remember you telling me about her.”

“So, er, yes… She’s just started her training at AFC Harrogate and he wants me to be her… erm, point of contact in Leeds.”

“That’s brilliant, sweetheart. I’m sure it’ll mean a lot to Heather… and I’m really proud of you.”

Thorin could feel Bilbo’s smile filtering through the phone line and he smiled too. “Thank you… How was your morning?”

“Nothing much to report… Oh, apart from the fact that I found out Rosie’s going to _Bristol_ next month for a few days.”

Thorin’s heart stuttered. “To see Sam…? She did call him?”

“They’ve had quite a few phone calls it seems.” Bilbo sounded positively gleeful, and Thorin didn’t blame him. “And now he’s introducing her to some of his family down there.”

“Wow,” Thorin whispered. “That’s, er, that’s great.”

There was a moment of silence and then Bilbo spoke, voice low, a little careful: “So… would you like to give phone sex a go?”

Thorin drew in a breath. “… Okay.”

“And you’re sure you’re okay with this?”

“I… I’d really like to try… Just… If I get it wrong…”

Bilbo’s voice dropped lower still, and Thorin felt a faint tingling on the back of his neck as he answered: “You’re not going to get this wrong… I’m sure you’re going to get this very right.”

Thorin swallowed. “Okay.”

“Just to set the scene… Can we pretend we’re in your room at your house? I’d rather our imaginary sex not have the same constraints as the ward.”

“Of course,” Thorin murmured. “We can be in my room.”

“I’ve… er, got another request too?”

“… Okay?”

“I’d like to, er, pretend that you’re in uniform?”

Thorin couldn’t help but smile at that. He pictured the very attractive flush that had crept across Bilbo’s face when he turned up on the ward straight from the AFCO… that thought alone was more than enough to convince him.

“Of course… So, er, we’re in my room and I’m in uniform.”

Bilbo’s voice dropped again: “What would you like me to be wearing?”

Thorin thought for a moment and coughed to clear his throat. “Is… is it weird if… I’m in uniform but you’re… er, dressed like you are in the… the university photo you gave me?”

Bilbo’s chuckle was quite dark as he answered: “Not at all… for you, I’ll don my mesh tank top and a pair of _very tight_ black jeans.”

“And… and eyeliner?”

“Naturally.”

“Right… so, er, what… what happens now?”

“I turn up at your door, _Captain Oakenshield_ , and we start getting each other undressed.”

Thorin felt another tingling sensation, this time running up his neck, over his scalp. “Can… Can I kiss you first?”

“Of course… Where would you like to kiss me?”

“Your mouth… but… but _properly_ kiss you.”

Thorin could practically feel Bilbo grinning on the other end of the phone. “You mean with tongues?”

“Yes, please.”

“Okay, so we’re kissing, with tongues… and I’m licking at your lips whilst I do it, sometimes nibbling them, properly claiming your mouth so that every time we break apart it’s like coming up for air… and I’m pulling our bodies together, one hand on the small of your back…”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Thorin breathed, surprising himself with the curse. “You’re… you’re really good at this.” He could feel his face growing warm, the tingles running down his back.

“Say ‘fuck’ again,” Bilbo whispered, voice sounding different.

Thorin obliged: “ _Fuck_.”

“Christ,” Bilbo muttered. “Okay… right, where were we?”

“Kissing…?”

“Right, yes, kissing… and one hand is on your back, but the other comes up to your left ear… and I’m running one finger over it, tracing the spot where you used to have your helix piercing… and then I’m rubbing the lobe between my thumb and forefinger…”

Thorin made a strange, choked sound, managing only to let out a breathy ‘ _Bilbo_ …’ as his ears grew hot, the tingling sensations spreading up to them from his neck.

“Would you like me to do anything else to your ears? Lick them…? _Suck them_ …?”

“I… I don’t know…” Thorin said, hearing the strain in his voice, palm starting to grow sweaty against the phone.

“How about if I gently start sucking your left earlobe?”

“… O-okay…”

“And then my other hand moves from your back and is rubbing at your other ear.”

“Fuck…” Thorin could feel Bilbo’s fingers at his ears, and it was then that he also realised his jeans were feeling _very_ tight. “Bilbo… Can you… er, leave my ears alone for now…? I, er, I don’t want this… to be… er, over just yet.”

“Of course, love,” Bilbo said, voice hushed. “And we haven’t even started undressing yet… shall we do that now…?”

“… Okay.”

“So I slip your beret off your head and drop it to the floor… And then I slowly start to unbutton your jacket… I reach the bottom and slide it from your shoulders, making sure I run my hands along your arms whilst I do it…”

Thorin swallowed, feeling the dark hairs on his forearms tingle with Bilbo’s invisible touch.

“I then very politely ask you to lift your arms in the air so I can pull off your t-shirt… you also might have to lean forward because, alas, I’m quite a bit shorter than you are…”

Thorin smiled despite the continued tingles. “I don’t mind leaning forward.”

“Such a gentleman,” Bilbo replied. “So I pull your t-shirt over your head… and I take a moment to admire the fact that my boyfriend is ridiculously hot, and I am very lucky to have him standing half-naked in front of me.”

Thorin felt more colour rush into his cheeks. He wasn’t sure how best to respond to the compliment, and so he waited, still feeling a faint crackling over his forearms and in his ears.

“Now I’m reaching forward and running my fingers over your shoulders and your chest… Can you feel me doing that…?”

The crackle spread to Thorin’s chest. “… Yes.”

“And does it feel good?”

Thorin’s throat tightened. “ _Yes_.”

“… Would you like me to continue? Or do you want to start undressing me now?”

Suddenly becoming aware that the phone sex had been quite one-sided up until this point, Thorin managed to pull himself out of his haze and answer: “I… I’m going to start undressing you.”

“Okay.”

Thorin drew in a breath and focused on picturing Bilbo standing in front of him, eyeliner a little smudged from their enthusiastic kissing. “I… I’m running my fingertips over your chest…” he said, fingers twitching on the bed. “I… I can feel your skin through your top…”

“I can feel your fingers too,” Bilbo said, voice enticingly low. “Tell me… what does my skin feel like…?”

“It’s… it’s soft… and warm… and…” Thorin paused, before taking the plunge. “And I can feel your… your nipples through your top… they’re under my fingers.”

Bilbo let out a sound which could have possibly been a moan.

“Would… would you like me to touch them?”

“… Please.”

“Okay… I’m… I’m rubbing them with my thumbs…”

The sound Bilbo made then was definitely a moan.

“Does, er, does that feel… good?”

“So good,” Bilbo whispered. “You’re so wonderful to me… Doing so well…”

Thorin felt the tingling spark in his fingertips and he tried to ignore his own growing need that was very much starting to make itself known.

“Will you put your hands under my top…? I need to feel your fingers properly.”

“Of course… I, er, I’m running my hands over your stomach… Lifting your top up… and, er, now I’m…” Another deep breath. “I’m rolling your… your nipples between my finger and thumb… and I’m kissing your neck whilst I do it…”

“Oh my God…” Bilbo gasped. “That feels so good… I’m touching my nipples right now.”

“You… You are…?” Thorin’s voice was hoarse.

“Rolling them between my fingers… Like you said… You’re making them so hard…”

Thorin let out a sharp breath, more than aware that he was now rock hard inside his jeans. He reached down and popped the button with one hand, hoping to give himself some relief. Sweat was prickling on his hair line as he brushed the hand over his forehead.

“Thorin…?”

“What… sorry, what?”

A breathy laugh. “I lost you for a moment there.”

“S-sorry… Just… this is… this is going, er, better than I expected.”

“It’s going very well,” Bilbo murmured. “So well that I’m not sure I’ll, er, be much use to you if I let you keep playing with my nipples… How about we finish undressing?”

“Okay.”

“You’ve lifted my top most of the way up… so I’ll pull it off over my head to save you the trouble… And then I gently push you back until you’re sitting on the edge of your bed… Can you picture that…?”

“… Yes.”

“And then I drop down onto my knees and start unlacing your boots.”

With the image of Bilbo kneeling in front of him fixed at the forefront of his mind, Thorin slid a tentative hand down to rest over his zipper.

“I pull off your boots and your socks… and unbuckle your belt… and push you back until you’re lying on the bed… Still with me…?”

“Yes,” Thorin said, struggling even with the single syllable as he began to slowly rub himself through his jeans.

“I’m going to ask you to lift your hips up so I can pull off your trousers and your pants at the same time.”

“O-okay…”

“And now I’ve got you completely naked on the bed in front of me… and you look _beautiful_ …”

The word was like a bolt of electricity straight from the phone into Thorin’s jeans and he choked on a breath.

“So… _Captain Oakenshield_ … what would you like me to do to you…?”

Thorin gingerly moved his hand away, managing to regain some cognitive function… remembering how he had really wanted this to go before Bilbo had mercilessly pushed him back onto the bed and stripped him.

“You’re… you’re still wearing your jeans…”

Bilbo seemed surprised by Thorin’s answer. “… I am, yes?”

“I… I’d like to get you, er, naked first… If that’s okay?”

“Of course.”

Thorin drew in a careful breath, trying to collect himself and return his focus to Bilbo, and making sure he got the pleasure he so deserved from this phone call.

“I… I get up off the bed and come and stand in front of you… and… and I run my hands over your body… over your chest and your arms… and your waist… and, er, and then I unbutton your jeans… I’m pulling them down over your legs… until I’m kneeling down on the floor in front of you.”

He heard Bilbo’s breathing grow a little heavier.

“I ask you to, er, lift your legs… just so I can pull your jeans over your ankles…”

“Okay.”

“And then I… I kiss your calves… your knees… your thighs…”

“I can feel your mouth on me,” Bilbo whispered, breathing definitely heavier.

“Can I take your underwear off now?”

“Go ahead… Am I wearing anything interesting? Risqué?”

Thorin smiled. “The black boxer-briefs you usually wear to bed.”

“That’s not very sexy.”

“… I think they’re sexy.”

Bilbo laughed. “Well, that’s alright then.”

“I’m… I’m curling my fingers around the waistband… pulling them down over your legs so you can step out of them…”

Thorin paused, thinking about the picture this presented, the hand instinctively returning to the very definite, slightly straining bulge in his jeans.

“… Thorin?”

Thorin coughed. “I… I’ve never seen it.”

“It?” Bilbo asked, sounding confused, but this was quickly followed by: “Oh… you, er, mean my cock?”

Another bolt of electricity crashed into Thorin’s jeans and he let out a choked sound, his burning face feeling flushed and sticky with sweat. “Y-yes…”

“Well, it’s not as lovely as yours,” Bilbo replied. “But… if you’d like to see it, I’m sure I can, er, arrange _something_.”

Thorin swallowed, giving in and deciding to pull down his jeans zipper and reach a hand inside. “Will… you tell me what it looks like? So I can… can picture it?”

“Okay…” There was a muffled sound on the other end of the line. “Okay… So I’m just having a… a little look myself…”

Thorin's throat felt raw as he asked quietly: “Are… are you touching yourself?”

“… Would you like me to?”

“I… Yes… I’d like that…”

“Okay… I’ve, well, I’ve got my fingers wrapped around now… I’m a bit thicker than you, but you beat me on length…”

Thorin increased the pressure of his own hand, huffing out a breath. “What… what colour is your hair…?”

“Er… sort of light brown, I suppose…”

“And… it’s soft?”

“Yes…?”

Thorin made a grunt in the back of his throat.

 “Thorin… are you touching yourself?”

“… Yes.”

Bilbo seemed a little dazed as he answered: “How about we take this back to your bedroom...?”

“Okay.”

“So… you’ve undressed me… what would you like to do now?”

Thorin returned to himself again, feeling his heart thumping against his ribs. He reluctantly withdrew his hand from his jeans. He wanted to make this all about Bilbo again, Bilbo who had given him so much pleasure in the past… now he was desperate to return the favour.

“I… I want to make you come.”

Bilbo’s voice was quiet and a little rough as he asked: “And how would you like to do that?”

“I… I…” Thorin’s mind drew a blank. He and Bilbo had discussed nipple play and dirty talk with Dr. Cox, but nothing else… He wasn’t sure what Bilbo would prefer, and he decided honesty was probably the best policy. “I… don’t know what you like… will you tell me? What you, er, would like me to do?”

There was a pause before Bilbo answered, speaking slowly and deliberately: “I’d like you to lay me down on your bed… and play with my nipples… and then play with my bum until I come all over my stomach… Will you do that for me?”

Fuck. _Fuck…_ “I… ” _Fuck_. “I… I can do that for you…”

Thorin took a moment to breathe deeply in through his nose. He was sure he had never been so hard in his entire life and his erection was throbbing almost painfully beneath the cotton of his pants. But now was a time to be thinking about Bilbo, about giving Bilbo pleasure.

“Want me to start us off…?” Bilbo asked, after Thorin failed to speak again.

“Please.”

“Okay… I take your hand and lead you back to the bed… I lay down on my back and you’re straddling my hips… and I drag you down into a kiss… Would you like to continue?”

“Er… can we kiss with tongues again?”

“Of course.”

“I… I’m licking your lips this time… and… and whilst we’re kissing… I’m rubbing your nipples again…”

Bilbo made a hum of approval. “… That feels good.”

“And… and then I start kissing your chin… your jaw… and then I’m kissing your neck… would it, er, be okay if I… licked your neck too?”

Bilbo’s voice sounded higher as he answered: “I’d really like that.”

“I… I’m running my tongue over your neck… over your shoulder… I’m moving down your body…”

“This is… is so good, Thorin… _So good_ …”

“Would you… like me to lick your nipples?”

“God, yes.”

“I… I lick your left nipple first… and I’m, er, I’m rubbing my thumb over your right nipple… and then I… I start sucking… but… but really gently… like I’m teasing you…”

“You are…” Bilbo whispered, and finally his voice was starting to sound beautifully wrecked.

“And, er, then I swap over… so I’m sucking your right nipple… licking it too… rolling your left nipple between my fingers…” Thorin sucked in a breath, resisting the urge to start palming himself again. “Your nipples are… are so hard right now… they look beautiful.”

“I’m so hard right now,” Bilbo said, with a rasping laugh. “Christ, Thorin… The things you’re doing to me…”

“I can do more,” Thorin said softly. “Are you ready for me to… er…?”

“Play with my bum?”

“Er… yes.” Thorin said, throat feeling tight. “Would you like me to… to use my, er, my mouth… or my fingers?”

“Oh, fingers please,” Bilbo replied, and he sounded wanting, full of desire, and Thorin thought he might actually come in his pants there and then like a teenager.

“W-would you like to be on your back… or on your stomach…?”

Bilbo’s breathing was growing heavy again. “I want to look at you whilst you’re doing this… so I’ll be on my back, with a pillow under my bum… and my ankles by your ears…”

 _Fuck_. “O-okay… okay… We, er, we need some… some…”

“Some lube magically drops from the ceiling and lands by your hand.”

Bilbo sounded quite impatient and Thorin’s fingers were tingling again.

“Right… do… do you mind if I feel your… your bum a bit first? I… I haven’t been able to and… I think I’d quite like to feel it… in my hands.”

Despite being slightly breathless, Bilbo sounded impossibly fond as he replied: “Of course, you have a good fondle.”

“Y-your skin is… so soft… so warm… and I’m… I’m squeezing your cheeks… it feels really good.”

“I’m very glad my arse can be of service.”

Thorin choked. Bilbo was sounding impatient again, so he figured he better move things along. “I… I’m coating my fingers with lube… and now I’m…” He breathed in deeply through his nose. “I’m slipping one finger between your cheeks, rubbing… just rubbing there… until I can slide one finger inside you…”

Bilbo let out a low moan and Thorin almost lost it.

“Shit…” he muttered. “Er… okay, so I… I just wait a little while… until you’re, er, comfortable… and then I start moving my finger… really slowly… gently…”

“I… I can feel it,” came Bilbo’s broken whisper.

“I’m moving faster now… pushing the finger in and out of you… and you’re… you’re taking it beautifully…”

Bilbo definitely cursed down the phone, followed by: “I need another finger.”

“Okay… I… I’m sliding another finger in… moving them together… slowly at first… but… but then picking up my pace…”

Bilbo groaned, and Thorin heard another fairly distinctive sound coming down the phone.

“You’re touching yourself?” he asked, voice hushed.

“Yes,” Bilbo breathed. “I… I’m getting close, Thorin… I… I need you to keep talking…”

“I… I’m pushing my fingers inside you… and you… you look so lovely… on the bed beneath me… I’m kissing your ankles whilst I bury my fingers inside you…”

“ _Thorin_ …” Bilbo sounded breathless, the name coming out in a whine.

“I… I’m adding another finger… and I’m hitting that spot inside you… and you can’t stop moaning…”

“Fuck… I… I’m going to come…”

Thorin’s hand was slipping against the phone he was sweating so much. “I really, really want you to.”

“Shit… shit… okay… love, I… I need you to… to keep talking… to me…”

“Bilbo?” Thorin said, suddenly concerned by how high and broken Bilbo sounded.

“I… I’m going to come… and… and when I do… I… I just need you to… to talk me… through it… to keep me… safe…”

“Of course I’ll do that,” Thorin replied. “I… I’m right here with you… I’m not going anywhere…”

“K-keep talking… about your fingers…”

“Oh… I’m… I’m pumping them… in and out… in and out… and you’re making so many… so many beautiful sounds… and your skin is all… all glowing and sweaty… and I’m kissing the… the sweat off your ankle…”

“ _Thorin_ …”

“Come for me, Bilbo… I… I want to hear you come…”

“ _Fuck_ , Thorin… I… I…”

And Bilbo let go with a cry wrapped around Thorin’s name.

“I’m right here, love… I’ve got you… You were amazing… and so beautiful…”

Thorin continued to babble whilst he listened to Bilbo’s laboured breaths slowly even out.

“Bilbo… Sweetheart, are you okay…?”

“ _Fucking hell_ …” came Bilbo’s voice, sounding scratchy and exhausted.

“Bilbo?” Thorin said again, chest tightening.

“That… that may have been the best orgasm of my life…” Bilbo said, sounding quite dumbfounded. “God… can you imagine what it might be like when we _actually_ have sex…? I mean, _fuck_ …”

The tingling sensations grew fuzzier as Thorin smiled. “So… it was okay?”

“Okay? Thorin… that was amazing… you are amazing… and beautiful… and I love you,” Bilbo replied, almost stumbling over his words and still sounding out of breath. “I… I can’t believe that just happened…”

“I... I’m, er, I’m glad it was… good.”

“Did you come?”

“… What?”

“You said you were touching yourself before…?”

“Oh, er, no… I… I wanted you to come first… so I, er, stopped.”

“Well, I think we should do something about that.”

Thorin’s mouth suddenly went dry. “… Okay.”

“What would you like me to do…?” Bilbo asked, voice dropping again.

“I… I’m not sure…” Thorin murmured, hand slowly moving back and reaching into his pants.

“I think you might like me to suck you off.”

Thorin’s fingers tightened their grip. “That… that sounds good.”

“… Are you touching yourself?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, so we’re back in your bedroom… I’ve recovered from one earth-shatteringly good orgasm… and now I’m pulling you back down onto the bed… lying you on your back… kissing my way down your chest…”

Thorin sped up his strokes, the skin beneath his t-shirt sparking with bursts of electricity.

“I’m kissing my way down that lovely trail of dark hair over your stomach… and then I’m pushing my nose into all that thick hair around your cock… smelling you… kissing you…”

“Bilbo,” Thorin said, and the word sounded mangled. “I… I won’t last…”

“That’s alright, love, you come when you need to come… you don’t need to hold out for me.”

Thorin huffed out a breath, rubbing his thumb over all his sensitive spots, almost seeing sparks behind his eyes as a familiar coil tightened in his stomach.

“I’m licking you now… running my tongue over your shaft… swirling it around your head…”

“Fuck, Bilbo…”

There was a dark chuckle. “I love it when you say my name like that… Do you want me to suck you now?”

“… _Please_.” The coil was as tight as it could go and with his chest heaving almost in time with his frantic strokes, Thorin knew he would be coming any second.

“I slowly take you into my mouth… zigzagging my tongue as I go… and I start sucking you… slowly… moving my lips up and down…”

Thorin dropped the phone when he came with a long, low groan. His whole body felt boneless and his fingers were twitching as the tingling sensations rushed to their tips and then seemed to trickle out into the bedcovers beneath them. He was sure he had left his body altogether as he soared towards the ceiling, feeling warm and full of sparks and completely and utterly dazed. It was a long time before he heard Bilbo’s voice, fuzzy with static, sounding from the phone that was resting by his shoulder.

His fingers felt numb and oversized as he retrieved the phone and lifted it to his ear. “Bilbo?”

“Thorin? Are you alright?” Bilbo sounded genuinely worried.

“I… yes, I’m… I’m fine… Sorry,” Thorin’s throat felt raw as he spoke. “I, er, I dropped the phone when I… when I came…”

“Oh, oh right,” Bilbo replied, voice full of relief. “I, er, I heard you moan… but then nothing… just lots of heavy breathing… you had me panicking for a moment there.”

“Sorry,” Thorin said again.

“Quite alright… God, this afternoon’s been a bit surreal.”

Thorin smiled. “That’s one word for it… But you’re… glad we did this?”

“I am, and don’t you dare doubt that for a second,” Bilbo answered. “Although I have, er, made a bit of a mess in here…”

Thorin glanced down at his t-shirt. “Well, er, that makes two of us… I… I wish I was there with you… to… to clean you up… cuddle you afterwards.”

“Me too,” Bilbo said quietly. There was a comfortable pause before he spoke again: “I… I know you need to get yourself sorted out, but will you stay on the line for a bit…? Just for, er, some post-coital chat?”

Thorin smiled. “Of course…”

And so he and Bilbo discussed their plans for the days ahead, both basking in a warming, cosy afterglow. Thorin’s eyes slid to his window, where the bare branches were tapping against the panes, and the sun was getting lower in the sky, its light leaving his statue of Ganesh sitting, glinting and golden, on the low sill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, we got to 300,000+ words before someone said ‘cock’. This chapter was quite the excursion outside of my writing comfort zone, but I think I very much enjoyed myself in the end ;) 
> 
> Also, guys, please check out this beautiful piece of calligraphy by Papertigress: 
> 
> http://melanippos.tumblr.com/post/145504369971/czeslaw-milosz-i-loved-this-the-first-time-i-read#tumblr_notes
> 
> It’s a Czeslaw Milosz quote taken from the epigraph for Chapter 32 of ‘Obstacles’, and it’s beautiful!
> 
> P.S. Are y'all ready for the Kiwi invasion?!


	53. Chapter 53

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I present to you 6,000 words of pure, unadulterated fluff. 
> 
> I’ve been waiting two years to write this family reunion, and I sincerely hope you all have as much fun reading it as I have had writing it!

“ _Mum!_ ” Fili let out a sound caught somewhere between a growl and a whine as she curled further into herself in the backseat of the car. Thorin watched in the rearview mirror as his niece pulled the navy blue hood of her fencing team hoodie further over her eyes and retreated into it like a snail into its shell.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” Dis replied: having just switched on the radio, she quickly changed the energetic, thudding beats of Capital FM – which had no place existing at six in the morning – to the quieter tones of the BBC Radio Leeds traffic report.

A grumbled acceptance of her mother’s apology sounded from beneath the hood as Fili leaned her head against the window. They had been driving for about twenty minutes now, heading straight down the A6120 towards Leeds Bradford Airport. Prim and Drogo’s Heathrow flight was due to land around seven, and they wanted to give themselves plenty of time to make the journey. This had, of course, meant rising before the crack of dawn on a Saturday morning and piling sleepily into the car whilst it was still dark.

Dis looked tired but alert as she kept her eyes on the road, one hand on the steering wheel, the other now fiddling with various buttons, attempting to revive their car’s heating system to take the edge off the pre-dawn cold. Thorin watched her fondly from the corner of his eye, unable to stop himself smiling. Dis had played an essential role in the execution of this latest mission objective.

Prim and Drogo had been saving for a trip to England when Prim fell pregnant with Frodo, and Bilbo had insisted that they use their savings to ensure their son had the best childhood possible. When Thorin explained that he would like to loan the couple some money for their plane tickets, his sister had been adamant that they would go half and half on the cost, refusing to let her brother pay for everything.  

She had also gone above and beyond to make sure they would be ready for the arrival of their newly-acquired cousins. A whole-school email had been sent, requesting for help with various baby-related items to save Prim and Drogo having to pack up half their home for the trip, and then one evening Dis had returned from work with a car full of babycare products donated by staff members with children who had been happy to help out. Thorin had tried to keep his swearing to a minimum as he and his sister prepared their home for one-year-old Frodo, but assembling a cot, followed by a temperamental highchair and pram had been a fairly trying experience.

Yet, Thorin knew it was all going to be worth it when he saw the look on Bilbo’s face. That thought had been a warm, fuzzy ball, beating beside his heart, only growing all the more giddy whenever he conjured the image of Bilbo being reunited with his family. Last night he had barely been able to sleep, and it was definitely a new experience: being kept awake by happy, excited thoughts rather than dark, dangerous ones. He had therefore risen a little worse for wear that morning, with shadows under his eyes and a stiffness in his limbs, but at least Fili had trumped his dishevelment by appearing downstairs, eyes still dark with yesterday’s make-up and looking as if she had slept in a wind tunnel. He’d heard her moving about late last night, and he suspected that despite a gruelling week of mock-exams, she was just as anxious and excited as he was to finally meet Bilbo’s family.

Kili and Dain seemed to be the most awake of all of them. Another glance in the rearview mirror confirmed that the Labrador, who was sitting in the boot, looked overjoyed to be joining them on this latest adventure and his tongue, lolling out of the side of his mouth, jumped with each of his eager pants. It was quite comical how Kili’s body language and demeanour seemed to mirror Dain’s. He was practically vibrating in his seat, brown eyes wide with anticipation as he watched the cars fly past them in the opposing lane. Kili had actually been the first to be up and dressed that morning, and he had sat at the bottom of the stairs, ready and waiting, whilst the rest of his family stumbled around him, collecting keys and coffee.

Thorin wondered if his nephew’s enthusiasm stemmed from the fact that he had only been told about Prim and Drogo’s impending arrival when Dis had driven home with half of Mothercare in her car. They had decided not to tell Kili straight away, lest he accidentally let something slip whilst visiting Bilbo, but since being told, Kili had guarded the secret with a diligence and seriousness which only made his uncle smile with pride.

“Uncle Thorin?” Kili broke the silence, eyes moving from the window to his uncle in the front seat.

“Yes, Kili?” Thorin replied, turning so that he could meet Kili’s gaze.

“You know how Prim and Drogo are Uncle Bilbo’s cousins… and Frodo is his nephew… what does that make them to me and Fili?”

Thorin thought for a moment before answering. “Well, Prim and Drogo are Bilbo’s cousins, but Frodo isn’t actually his nephew… he’s really his… Hmm…” Thorin frowned: he had only ever thought of Frodo as Bilbo’s nephew, and nothing more.

“First cousin, once removed,” Dis put in, a small smile appearing.

“Oh.” Kili’s frown almost mimicked his uncle’s. “So… Frodo is like my second cousin, three times removed or something?”

That sounded a lot more complicated than Thorin wanted it to, but Dis saved the day by replying: “How about we just stick with cousins, love? Also, they’re family… so it doesn’t really matter what relation they are, you’d still feel the same about them, wouldn’t you?”

Kili nodded vigorously. “Of course!”

Thorin felt the fuzzy ball fluttering inside his chest again as his nephew grinned to himself in the backseat. He also greatly appreciated Dis’ words on family, and he couldn’t deny how happy it made him that his own family had embraced Bilbo’s so openly before actually meeting any of them.

“Hey, Fee… Fee… we’re going to meet our cousins!”

Glancing into the back of the car again, Thorin saw Kili was jabbing his sister’s arm. Fili let out a hiss, trying to wriggle away.

“Mum, I think Fili might be dead,” Kili said, giving Fili another poke for good measure.

“You’re gonna be dead in a minute if you keep poking me,” Fili groused, the words rumbling up from the depths of her hoodie.

Thorin watched as Kili slowly raised his index finger again with mock-theatricality and jammed it straight into Fili’s ribs. Fili turned on him with a growl and then the two were play fighting, locking their hands together and trying to wrestle the other into their respective car doors.

“Stop it, the pair of you!” Dis said sharply. “We’re here.”

Sure enough, the long grey buildings of Leeds Bradford Airport loomed up on their left, and they made their turning off the main road and into the short-stay carpark.

After finding a spot close to the doors to the arrivals lounge, they all clambered out of the car, taking a moment to stretch their sleep-heavy limbs. Thorin collected Dain from the boot and then they headed inside. It wasn’t quite seven yet, and so they parked themselves on a row of chairs just beneath the large black boards that proclaimed, in bright yellow letters, that the Heathrow flight was due to land on time.

“Hey, Kee, straighten this out for me,” Fili said, pulling a roll of paper from her rucksack and handing it to her brother. “Mum, I’m just gonna go and make myself not look like death warmed up,” she added, gesturing over to the Ladies in the corner of the lounge.

“Okay, sweetheart, but you’ve only got ten minutes max then we need you back here,” Dis replied.

Fili gave an affirmatory grunt and then sloped off to make herself look a little more presentable. Kili had unrolled the paper and was now smoothing his hands over it, flattening it against the spare seat to his right.

“What’ve you got there, mate?” Thorin asked, peering over his nephew’s shoulder.

“Oh, it’s a sign!” Kili said, holding up the paper. “Me and Fili made it last night.”

And sure enough, the word ‘Bagginses’ was written in large, multi-coloured letters, decorated with stars and hearts, amongst other things.

“Do you like it?” Kili asked, sounding almost nervous. “Fili drew most of it and I coloured it in.”

“I love it,” Thorin assured him, and then his eyes moved to the bottom of the sign where Fili had doodled an unmistakable rendering of their Ganesh idol and Kili had coloured it in yellow felt-tip, shading it expertly with shades of orange and brown. “Is… that a Ganesh statue?”

“Oh, yeah!” Kili seemed pleased his uncle had noticed. “I drew that… because Prim and Drogo’s visit is part of ‘Operation Ganesh’.”

Thorin smiled. “So it is.”

Kili still didn’t know the origins of ‘Operation Ganesh’, but he did know Thorin had hatched a plan to help Bilbo get better and be able to leave the hospital, and he had been fully invested in this idea from the moment he was first told about it.

“Well, don’t you scrub up well?”

Fili had returned from the Ladies and was looking much more like herself. She had pulled down her hood to reveal that her tangled blonde hair had been tamed into a much sleeker ponytail, and she had wiped away yesterday’s make-up, her black eyeliner now once again perfected into delicate winged points.

“Cheers, mum,” Fili smirked, sliding down into a chair next to Dis. “Hey, look, the Heathrow flight’s landed!”

All eyes jumped to the board above them, which did indeed state that Prim and Drogo had just touched down at Leeds Bradford.

“You okay, Uncle?” Fili asked, leaning forward so she could give him a reassuring smile.

“Yes, er, I’m fine,” Thorin replied, and Dain shifted between his knees. His stomach was starting to wriggle a bit now, with a mixture of nerves and excitement he supposed.

A silence fell over them as they all seemed to consider their own feelings at the meeting that was only minutes away now, and all eyes kept flicking from the board to the double doors, which connected the arrivals lounge to baggage reclaim, where passengers would soon be appearing with suitcases and smiles.

Thorin was sure his mind had drifted from the present moment completely when Dis and Fili suddenly stood up: people were starting to spill through the doors. There weren’t many other families and friends waiting to greet the passengers, and so Thorin followed his sister to a prime greeting spot right before the doors. Fili and Kili came to their side, proudly holding their sign aloft for everyone to see. A few other passengers smiled at it as they walked past, and the light in their eyes seemed to erase the grey fatigue from their features.

“Can you see them yet?” Kili asked, almost bouncing up and down with excitement.

“Not yet,” Fili replied, but then she suddenly broke into a huge smile and waved a hand towards the doors. “Wait, wait, there they are! I’m sure that’s them!”

And then Prim and Drogo and Frodo stepped through the arrival lounge doors. Drogo was dragging a suitcase which seemed almost as big as himself and Prim had a large carry-on bag slung over one shoulder with little Frodo balanced on her hip. As soon as they caught sight of Fili’s wave they were both beaming and picked up their pace, weaving through the crowd.

“Hello! Hello!” Prim cried, seeming far too cheerful for someone who had just endured a twenty-four hour flight, but Thorin didn’t mind in the slightest.

Their party was suddenly engaged in a round of vigorous hand-shaking and hugs. Prim pulled Dis into a one-armed hug and kissed her cheek, before moving onto Fili and Kili.

“Oh, bless you both, you made a sign!” Prim said, squeezing Kili’s shoulder and leaning over the sign to kiss Fili’s cheek. “Oh, aren’t you absolutely gorgeous?” she added. “And I know your brother’s going to break a lot of hearts.”

Fili and Kili seemed a little taken aback by the compliments and a sudden shyness Thorin had never before witnessed in his niece and nephew came over them.

“Thorin, wonderful to finally meet you,” Drogo said, grey eyes bright as he held out his hand to him.

Thorin shook it firmly. He was about to reply, but didn’t quite manage it before he had an armful of Prim. She squeezed his shoulders and rose onto her toes so she could press a kiss to his bearded cheek.

“It _is_ brilliant to finally meet the six-foot stunner our cousin’s landed,” she said, pulling away, and Thorin felt his cheeks instantly go scarlet. “Skype really doesn’t do you justice, my love… Honestly, what a beautiful, beautiful family.”

Like his niece and nephew, Thorin was left a little speechless by Prim’s compliments. He was, therefore, fairly relieved when Dis asked: “How was the flight to London?”

“Long,” Drogo replied, with a tired smile.

“Yes, I think I watched _Big Hero 6_ about six times, trying to keep this one entertained,” Prim added, nudging Frodo on her hip.

Frodo had stuck to his mother like glue whilst she had greeted everyone, and Thorin had noted the way he had curled into Prim’s cardigan whenever anyone else drew close. His face was still reddened from what must have been a previous bout of crying and he kept one pudgy fist clutched in Prim’s curly hair.

“Did he manage to sleep on the plane?” Dis asked, eyeing Frodo sympathetically.

“Not as much as he or I would’ve liked,” Prim sighed, looking down at Frodo and bouncing him on her hip again before kissing his dark curls. “Now you’re being a bit of a crosspatch, aren’t you, bub?” 

“We’ve, er, got a car seat for your rental… so he should be able to sleep on the ride home,” Thorin ventured, hoping Frodo would be in better spirits when he met Bilbo that afternoon.

Drogo nodded and then Prim was suddenly beaming. “Oh, you recognised that voice, didn’t you, Frodo?”

Sure enough, Frodo’s tiny fingers had fallen from his mother’s hair and he was wiggling in her arms, trying to turn himself around. Thorin felt his breath catch a little as large, watery eyes – far bluer than his or Fili’s – suddenly locked on him, studying him with an intelligence and intensity he never expected from a thirteen-month-old.

“Who is it, bub?” Prim asked, pointing at Thorin. “Who’s that?”

The blue eyes lit up with recognition and then suddenly Frodo was shouting: “Four!”

“Four?” Thorin asked hesitantly.

“'Uncle Thorin’ is a bit of a mouthful,” Prim explained. “So we’ve got as far as ‘Four’ – hopefully we’ll get him to ‘Four-in’ by the end of the holiday.”

“Oh… Oh, right,” Thorin replied, unable to stop grinning at Frodo.

“Four!” Frodo said again, followed by a string of indecipherable babbling, (“Da da buh da da”), and then he was wriggling against Prim’s hip and reaching out two chubby arms towards Thorin, making grabbing gestures with his fingers. “Four! Four!”

“Would you like to hold him?” Prim asked, tone light but still careful.

“Oh…” Thorin’s eyes flitted down to Dain. “Yes… Hang on…” He slipped the lead from his wrist and held it out so the Labrador could take it into his mouth, leaving him with both hands free to take Frodo.

“If he gets too wiggly, you just hand him straight back,” Prim said, approaching slowly, before leaning down to whisper in her son’s ear: “Now, Frodo, you make sure you’re the perfect gentleman when you say hello to your Uncle Thorin.”

The last baby Thorin had held in his arms was Kili, over a decade ago now, and he was sure he was very out of practice with this whole baby-holding thing. A hard knot suddenly tightened in his stomach as images of him dropping Frodo on the hard arrivals lounge floor flashed through his mind, but then Prim was handing him over and Thorin’s reactions seemed to him to be purely instinctual. He wrapped one arm under Frodo’s bum and his other hand came to rest gently against his back. Frodo snuggled into him, rubbing his cheek into his chest, one hand reaching up to clutch at his jacket. He made a few jabbering noises of contentment, then silenced himself as he pushed the fingers of his other hand into his mouth.

“You’re a natural,” Prim said, watching them both approvingly, and Drogo too looked pleased as he slid an arm around his wife’s waist.

“Also, this is so cute I might actually die,” Fili added helpfully, and Thorin suspected an iPhone might be about to be pointed in his face.

Still, he turned his attentions back to Frodo, feeling the knot in his stomach being slowly dissolved by all the giddiness fizzing up inside him. After so many months of seeing him sitting and babbling behind a laptop screen, Thorin couldn’t quite believe he now had Frodo cuddling into his chest and he felt a faint stinging in his eyes as he leaned down to rest his chin against Frodo’s dark, downy curls. It seemed an injustice really, that he was meeting Frodo before Bilbo did, but he knew all that really mattered was that the little family was finally here… and that their visit would mean the absolute world to the man he loved.

“I’m so glad you’re here, little one,” Thorin murmured, beginning to rock Frodo gently from side to side.

On hearing his voice, Frodo stirred, moving away from Thorin’s chest so that he could take in his face, blue eyes brimming with curiosity.

“Hello,” Thorin said softly, unable to hide his grin.

Frodo continued to stare at him with an expression of wonder, and then pudgy hands slowly reached up and touched his beard, tiny fingers sinking into the dark hair on Thorin’s cheeks.

“Ooo!” Frodo said, mouth making a little ‘O’, and everyone burst out laughing.

“I’m not sure he’s actually met anyone with a beard before,” Prim put in, seeming very amused at her son’s reaction.

“Right,” Thorin said, his cheeks flushing again.

Frodo continued to touch his beard with nothing short of awe, his fingers running over Thorin’s cheeks and chin, and then a memory of fascinated fingers tracing his facial hair surfaced at the forefront of Thorin’s mind. He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry with the joy of it all.

“You’re just as bad as your Uncle Bilbo,” he whispered.

“Ba ba ba da ba,” Frodo said thoughtfully.

 

…

 

Frodo had unleashed the most epic tantrum when Thorin attempted to hand him back to Prim in front of their rental car, and so, once they had figured out that they could fit their suitcase and Dain in the boot, Thorin had joined them for the journey back to Chapel Allerton.

They’d hit the morning traffic as people commuted into Leeds city centre, but at least the extended drive had allowed Thorin some time to properly get to know Bilbo’s cousins. They spoke of everything, from Drogo’s childhood in Weston-Super-Mare – not too far from where Samwise Gamgee had grown up – to the day he had met Prim in the school library, to the moment he had discovered he had a cousin in the foster care system in West Sussex. Thorin had hung on every word whilst little Frodo made repeated grabs for his beard, seeming quite annoyed that his parents had diverted his uncle’s attention from him and how adorable he was being.

Once they’d arrived back at the Oakenshield household, Dis, Fili, and Kili had sprang into action preparing a full English breakfast for their guests. Thorin had tried to help, but his sister had shooed him away, insisting that he sit at the kitchen table with Prim and Drogo and ‘be entertaining’.

The high chair was ready at the head of the table for when the food arrived, but for the moment Frodo was cuddled up in Prim’s arms as he gulped down a bottle of warm milk with surprising ferocity. Every so often, Prim pulled the bottle away to try and encourage her son to slow down, but Frodo only whined until the bottle was returned to his mouth.

“Alright, alright, have it your way,” Prim sighed, covering her mouth to smother a yawn.

“If you, er, need to sleep… we can save some breakfast for you,” Thorin offered, aware that Prim and Drogo must be exhausted and currently trying to combat jetlag.

“Oh, thank you, my love, but I’m sure we’ll manage to stay awake for the lovely brekkie you’re preparing,” she replied, smiling round at Dis, who seemed to be fighting with a spitting pan of fried eggs. “It smells amazing, Dis.”

Dis managed a smile as she moved the eggs off the heat before they threw themselves over the side of the pan. Kili was still dutifully buttering toast on the opposite worktop and Fili had put herself in charge of the George Foreman grill, which was currently stuffed full of sausages and bacon.

“Although, I’m not sure about my husband… Drogo? _Drogo_?”

Drogo, who had previously been reading the morning paper, was slumping slightly in his chair, eyes shut as his head fell against his shoulder, but he jumped back awake at his wife’s call.

“Oh, sorry, must have dozed off there,” he said, rubbing at his eyes.

Prim looked across the table at her husband with unmistakable fondness in her eyes. “Why don’t you go and have a lie down, love?” 

“No, no, I’ll be fine… I’ve got my paper.”

With a cough, Drogo straightened up and turned a page of the newspaper. As he read, a crease of concentration appeared between his brows and Thorin couldn’t help but notice that when reading, Drogo was the spitting image of Bilbo.

“Martyr,” Prim whispered.

“Insufferable woman,” Drogo replied, without looking up, and then they both smiled.

“When did you say your cousins are arriving, Thorin?”

Thorin’s eyes moved from Drogo to Prim. “Oh, Dwalin and Balin should be here around midday.”

“It might be later though, if Dwalin’s texts are anything to go by,” Fili put in, from where she was shuffling sausages from the grill onto a plate, ready to go into the oven.

“Oh?” Thorin raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, Dwalin’s been complaining about Balin’s driving, Balin’s car, the CDs in Balin’s car…”

Thorin slipped his phone out of his pocket and discovered he too had several messages from his cousin. “He’s texted me too.”

“Well, can you tell him he’s distracting me? I mean, I am on sausage duty here.”

“Do you want me to use that exact phrasing?” Thorin asked, smirking, and Fili only glared.

“Four!”

It seemed Frodo was finished with his bottle. Prim had sat him up in her lap so that he was now beaming across at Thorin with large blue eyes.  He let out a wail as his mother wiped his mouth with his bib, trying to struggle away from her, and held out his hands to Thorin, pleading to be saved.

“Four!”

“Is it okay if he sits with you?” Prim asked, straightening out Frodo’s jumper and pulling the sleeves back down his fleshy arms.

“Oh… er, of course,” Thorin replied, shifting on his chair.

He held his hands out to take Frodo but was secretly pleased when Prim got up so that she could carefully lower him into Thorin’s arms. Thorin told himself he definitely hadn’t just pictured dropping Frodo on the kitchen floor. With Frodo settled on his knee, Thorin held each of his little hands in his, helping him balance there, and Frodo squealed with delight as he was gently bounced up and down.

“Dock!”

Dain had lifted himself from the floor at Thorin’s side and was sitting beside his knee, inspecting this new addition to the family with his head tilted, tail wagging excitedly.

“Yes, this is my special dog,” Thorin all but cooed. “His name is Dain.”

“Dock!” Frodo repeatedly happily, turning himself to look down at Dain, giggling when the Labrador snuffled at his foot.

“He, er, hasn’t quite managed ‘Dog’ yet?” Thorin asked, moving one hand to Frodo’s side so that he had his own hand free to reach out to Dain.

Prim smiled a little slyly. “Not yet, though you should hear him try to say ‘frog’.”

Drogo coughed from behind his newspaper and his eyes flickered to Kili, still buttering toast behind them.

“We’ll show you his party trick another time,” Prim said, and Thorin connected the dots to figure out the link between ‘dog’, ‘dock’ and ‘frog’.

Dain gently licked at Frodo’s fingers and Frodo in turn let loose a stream of joyful sounds. He wriggled on Thorin’s knees, leaning forward and trying to reach for Dain again.

“Would you like to stroke him?” Thorin asked quietly. “Would you like to stroke the doggy?”

Frodo all but shrieked his agreement and so Thorin urged Dain to sit right against his leg and stay completely still whilst Frodo patted at his nose. He was preparing to pull Frodo away if he made a grab for Dain’s ears, but the gentle pats continued, interspersed with Dain’s licks when the Labrador couldn’t help himself.

This game continued for a few more minutes until Frodo decided he might find Thorin himself more interesting. He began twisting from side to side on Thorin’s knee, trying to see his face, and so Thorin lifted him up, turning him very carefully until they were smiling at each other. He expected Frodo to want to sit back down, but his feet stayed firmly pressed into Thorin’s legs. Holding his sides, Thorin’s thumbs brushed over his little tubby stomach, allowing Frodo’s hands to once again reach for his beard.

“Ba da ba da,” Frodo declared, pearly fingernails scratching against Thorin’s chin.

“Is that right?” Thorin grinned, unable to resist giving Frodo a little squeeze, making him giggle again.

Frodo’s hand travelled up Thorin’s cheek and then suddenly, without warning, he pulled the grey beanie from his uncle’s head, promptly jamming it into his mouth.

Thorin froze, jaw tightening as his whole body grew rigid with surprise. He was very glad that buried instincts in the back-up part of his brain shot to his hands, helping him keep Frodo steady in his lap.

“Frodo Baggins!” Prim scolded. “Thorin, I’m so sorry… Here, I can take him…”

“No, no… it’s…” Thorin drew in a deep breath, feeling his heart pounding against his ribs. “It’s… okay… I’ve got him.”

Frodo seemed a little perturbed by everyone’s reactions and the beanie fell from his open mouth, landing in Thorin’s lap. Thorin was about juggle Frodo into a position where he could reach down to retrieve it when he felt tiny fingers slide into his hair. He froze again as Frodo stared up at him, blue eyes looking impossibly sad as he murmured: “Ouch.”

“What?” Thorin whispered, suddenly panicking that he’d somehow managed to hurt him.

But then the fingers moved, with such gentleness, over his scar. “Ouch,” Frodo said again, and tears had actually sprung to his eyes, making them appear all the larger and rounder.

“Oh,” Thorin said, realisation dawning. “ _Oh_ …”

“Four,” Frodo mumbled, lip trembling.

“Hey, hey, shhh… it’s okay,” Thorin replied softly, one hand rubbing Frodo’s back in a consoling gesture, trying to ignore the thump of his heart. “It doesn’t hurt anymore… It’s… it’s an old ouch… So you don’t need to cry, okay, little one? I promise I’m alright now.”

Frodo rubbed at one of his eyes with a tiny fist and then, even more unexpectedly, he rose onto his toes and pressed a rather wet kiss to Thorin’s scar. Thorin stilled again, but felt he recovered more quickly this time, and it did help that Dain was leaning against his leg in a show of solidarity.

“Are you kissing it better?” Prim said, voice seeming tight with emotion. “Good boy, Frodo.”

One glance over Frodo’s shoulder confirmed that Prim was studying them both with shining eyes… as was the entire kitchen. Dis and Fili had stopped cooking and Kili’s butter knife had stilled over the final slice of bread. Drogo was watching his son with undeniable pride, although he too looked on the verge of tears.

“Thank you, Frodo,” Thorin said, pushing his nose into his nephew’s shoulder as his own vision began to blur.

“Four,” Frodo replied, with utmost affection, and then he slowly wrapped his pudgy arms around Thorin’s neck, snuggling into him with a hum.

“Dammit, I’ve got tears in the sausages,” Fili said, with a sigh.

 

…

 

“It better not be a stripper,” Bilbo stated, as Thorin carefully settled his large hands over his eyes.

“What is it with you and strippers?” Thorin chuckled. “Okay, you need to start moving forward.”

Thorin had arrived for visiting hours that afternoon and told Bilbo he had a surprise for him. After Bilbo had made the necessary amount of sexual innuendo, he had let his boyfriend herd him into the dayroom so that his room could be set up for the ‘surprise’. Thorin had waited, feeling the fuzzy ball almost swallowing his insides with its fizzing, and his stomach was slipping about with excitement – and with a good dash of nerves – as Bilbo tried to guess what on earth was going on in his room. Thorin had done nothing but grin, refusing to confirm or deny any of Bilbo’s suggestions.

After ten minutes, with Thorin barely able to contain his giddiness any longer, Rosie had poked her head around the doors and told them they were ready for Bilbo. They had walked hand in hand down the corridor until they approached the nurses’ station, and then Thorin had insisted on covering Bilbo’s eyes as he guided him back into his room.

“It’s not Corelli Barnett, is it?” Bilbo asked, hands coming to rest over Thorin’s.

“I don’t know who that is,” Thorin replied, heart beginning to race as he moved them past the nurses’ station.

“Superb military historian, former member of the Intelligence Corps… although he must be in his eighties now…”

Thorin lined them up with the door, before nudging Bilbo forward again. “It’s not Corelli Barnett.”

Bilbo suddenly brought them to a stop. “Thorin, if this is a ridiculously expensive present, I’m going to be very cross.”

“It’s not a ridiculously expensive present,” Thorin said quietly. “Now we’re almost in your room… so stop talking so I can get you in there without stubbing your toe.”

Thorin could feel Bilbo’s grin, even if he couldn’t see it. “Yes, sir!”

“Okay, start walking forward.”

Bilbo did as asked and Thorin steered him into the middle of his room. Prim, with Frodo balanced on her hip, and Drogo were standing in front of the window, with Dis, Fili, Kili, Dwalin and Balin at either side of them.

Thorin could feel his heart about to burst and his voice shook a little as he murmured: “Now turn to your left.”

Bilbo slowly turned, Thorin moving with him, keeping his hands pressed over Bilbo’s eyes.

“Ready?” Thorin asked.

“Yes.”

Thorin pulled his hands away.

There was a moment of absolute silence, everyone in the room holding in the same breath, as Bilbo stared, eyes wide with disbelief, at his cousins by the window. His mouth seemed to form a few shocked syllables and he blinked a couple of times, still looking completely stunned.

And then Frodo, little face full of jubilation, suddenly shouted: “Bo!”

“Oh my God,” Bilbo sobbed out, voice breaking. “Oh my God!”

He rushed forward, quickly closing the distance between them, and pulled Drogo into his arms. His cousin hugged him back fiercely, whispering words of comfort and love as everyone around them cheered and clapped, and then Bilbo turned to Prim, the tears pouring down his face as he kissed her cheek, gasping out a few emotional words which sounded like ‘I don’t believe it!’.

Bilbo’s attentions finally moved to Frodo, who was doing his best to struggle out of his mother’s arms and fling himself at his uncle.

“Bo!” Frodo cried, arms reaching out, and so Prim carefully handed him over.

“Frodo,” Bilbo gasped out, his cheeks growing red from sobbing. “Frodo, my dear, dear boy.”

Frodo snuggled into Bilbo’s jumper, hands curling around the soft wool fabric, and Bilbo pressed four kisses to his forehead in quick succession. Prim and Drogo came to his side, both squeezing his shoulders and leaning into him, completing their reunion and forming an almost protective circle around him and their son.

Bilbo continued to mumble into Frodo’s curls and then he lifted his lips away just enough so that Thorin could just about hear him whisper: “I thought I’d never get to meet you.”

Thorin felt the resurgence of a familiar ache, knowing Bilbo meant he had once believed he would die before his family ever managed to make a trip to England, but then he found himself repeatedly stamping down the pain in his chest. Now was not a time for subjunctive history, but for the present… and in this present moment, Bilbo was full of love, reunited with his cousins, hugging Frodo close to his chest, and crying with the absolute happiness of it all.

The moment seemed to last a beautiful, sunlit lifetime, but finally Bilbo straightened up, keeping his arms wrapped firmly around Frodo. “I… I can’t believe you’re actually here,” he said, voice still thick with emotion.

“We flew in this morning,” Drogo replied, discreetly reaching up to wipe his eyes.

“And, I would like to point out,” Prim began, turning to look at Thorin, who was still standing in the middle of the room, “that this was all Thorin’s idea.”

Bilbo’s watery eyes, once again filled with disbelief, moved from Prim to Thorin.

“Oh, well…” Thorin was suddenly feeling quite embarrassed under the intensity of Bilbo’s indecipherable gaze, knowing that everyone else was also looking at him. “I, er, know you wanted us to do ‘Operation Ganesh’ together… but this was, erm, a mission objective I couldn’t really share with you… Sorry about that.”

Keeping his eyes locked on Thorin, Bilbo slowly returned Frodo to Prim’s waiting arms, and then he was striding back across the room. In one fluid movement, he grabbed hold of Thorin’s jacket and dragged him down into a kiss. It took Thorin a split-second to figure out what exactly was going on – and to decipher the meaning behind Bilbo’s expression – but finally his brain cottoned on and he allowed himself to melt into the kiss. Bilbo kept a fierce grip on the front of his jacket as he mashed their lips together and Thorin closed his eyes, snaking his arms around Bilbo’s waist. Another cheer rose up in the room and Thorin was sure he would probably be dying of embarrassment if Bilbo wasn’t intent on snogging him so very thoroughly.

It seemed an age before Bilbo allowed them to come up for air and Thorin did blush then, seeing the smirks from Dis, Dwalin and Fili, the looks of warm affection from Prim, Drogo, and Balin, and then the look of confused wonder from Kili… who had never actually seen his uncle kiss anyone before. His gaze, however, was soon drawn back to Bilbo, who was crying again. It took Thorin a moment to register that, actually, he was also crying.

“I love you,” Bilbo breathed. “You are… so amazing… wonderful, wonderful boyfriend… and God… I just bloody love you, alright?”

Thorin smiled, pulling Bilbo back into his chest. “So… is this surprise better than Corelli Barnett and a stripper?”

“Yes,” Bilbo laughed, reaching up a hand to wipe his eyes. “Definitely better than Corelli Barnett and a stripper.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… would anyone like some tea and tissues? Got myself restocked after Chapter 50 ;)
> 
> Also, if any of you have any ‘Kiwi Invasion’ prompts, I’d love to hear them. I have two or three chapters to play with, and there’s space for about four extra scenes as well as the ones I have planned, so please do let me know if there’s anything in particular you’d like to see regarding Prim, Drogo, and Frodo!
> 
> P.S. You guys should all check out the 'Fire Alarms and Cooking Lessons' series by Bubbles759. They were kind enough to gift the third part to me, and the whole story is superb!


	54. Chapter 54

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More fluff than you can shake a stick at, featuring selfies, a grumpy Scotsman, bath-time, and a very special escorted leave…
> 
> Thanks go to Radioproxy for the Frodo prompt, and thank you also to TheHatMeister and Morvidra for their ‘Kiwi Invasion’ prompts, which I should hopefully be weaving into the next chapter!

“Move in a bit closer, Kee, I’ve only got half of you in the frame!”

Thorin’s face was actually aching from the amount of smiling he’d done in the past hour, but still he couldn’t help but keep grinning as Kili shuffled in closer to his sister and she raised her phone in front of them, trying to get the perfect picture. Fili had taken custody of Frodo a good fifteen minutes ago and she held him, giggling and squealing with excitement, in her lap whilst she took yet another photograph. Frodo seemed to be revelling in the attention and Thorin was sure he was probably the most photogenic baby he’d ever seen – he also smiled on cue, which was more than he could say for himself at that age. He quickly tried to banish the image of those horrible, frilly baby pictures from his mind.

It was a bit of a tight squeeze for all of them to fit in Bilbo’s room, but more chairs had been acquired and now the whole family sat in a loose circle between the bed and the window, a little crammed together, but feeling all the cosier for it. Bilbo’s thigh was pressed against Thorin’s and the younger man was tracing idle, unconscious patterns on the back of his hand whilst he spoke to Prim and Drogo.

“Oh, Fili, I wish you wouldn’t pout like that,” Dis sighed, eyeing her daughter with distaste.

Fili and Kili had been pulling stupid faces at the camera whilst Frodo continued beaming with his open-mouthed smile, revealing two or three tiny white teeth.

“It’s the obligatory duck-face selfie, Mum,” Fili protested, although she had returned to her usual smile whilst adding bunny ears behind Frodo’s head. She then tapped through her phone and her blue eyes lit up. “Oh my God, I’ve gained like thirty new followers on Instagram in an hour!”

“Hmm,” Dis replied, although she seemed to be hiding a smile.

“Look, Frodo… which filter shall we add to this picture?” Fili asked, leaning down over Frodo’s shoulder and showing him the phone.

Frodo appeared to be giving this question some thought, the faintest crease appearing on his brow, and then he answered “Dah duh la ba da”, giving the phone a confident slap with his chubby hand.

Fili grinned. “Okay, we’ll have this one.”

“Fili, my love, you might want to watch your phone doesn’t end up in his mouth,” Prim put in, breaking off her conversation with Bilbo. “I recognise that look he’s got, saw it just before mine got slobber all over it.”

“Ah, got ya,” Fili said, drawing her phone away to a safe distance, but still tapping at the screen as she posted this latest picture.

“And I think you’ve monopolised Frodo enough for the moment – Balin and Dwalin haven’t had a chance to say a proper hello yet,” Dis commented, at which Balin’s brown eyes brightened and Dwalin’s blue ones seemed to widen in alarm, although the emotion was quickly replaced by his usual stoicism as he straightened up in his chair.

“Cool, so who wants the munchkin?” Fili asked, hands settling over Frodo’s waist, ready to pass him over to the willing recipient.

“Oh, I’d love to have a hold,” Balin said, turning towards them.

When the Scots had finally made it to Chapel Allerton, after what sounded like five hours of constant bickering, the new arrivals had already given up fighting their jetlag and retreated to bed. Balin and Dwalin, therefore, had only had the chance to say brief hellos before they were all heading in convoy to the hospital.

“How does that sound, Frodo? You want to go and hang out with Balin for a while?” Fili asked gently, indicating the white-haired Scot.

Frodo tilted his head a little, large eyes seeming to be weighing up the prospect, and then he began wiggling in Fili’s lap, arms reaching out towards Balin. Thorin had never met a more sociable child: Frodo was completely unfazed by new people and was happy to be passed around a room. Thorin supposed he must get his social skills and patience from Bilbo.

Fili rose and carefully handed Frodo over into Balin’s waiting arms, and it became immediately obvious that when Frodo had been reaching out, he had been after exploring one thing in particular: Balin’s beard. Balin held Frodo so that they were facing each other, and Frodo’s fingers instantly began tangling themselves in the thick white hairs sprouting from Balin’s chin.

“Ooooo!” he cried, before letting out a laugh, seeming almost beside himself as his hands combed through the beard.

“Well, I’m glad my one-year-old has already expressed an obvious beard fetish,” Prim said, studying her son with a wry smile.

“And I’m glad my nephew clearly has excellent taste,” Bilbo added, squeezing Thorin’s hand, causing a blush to creep back into his cheeks.

“Ah, yerra bonnie barra, aren’t ye?” Balin cooed, his accent growing even thicker as he began to recite a Gaelic nursery rhyme and Frodo listened, entranced, pudgy fingers stilling in the white hair.

When the rhyme finished, Balin bounced Frodo on his knee and tickled him under his chin, making him squeal and try to wriggle away.

“Ee, he’s a right cannie, lad,” Balin said, smiling across at Prim and Drogo. “And a credit to you both.”

“Thank you, Balin,” Drogo replied, wrapping an arm around his wife’s shoulder: they were both glowing with pride at their son’s reception.

“Come on now, brother, your turn,” Balin said then, looking to Dwalin.

Dwalin had been watching Frodo with knitted black brows, and he stiffened as soon as he was addressed. He appeared to be the only one in the room immune to Frodo’s charms.

“I’m no good with kids,” he said gruffly, almost glaring down at Frodo.

“Well then you’re lucky the wee bairn is so good with grumpy adults.”

Dwalin remained unconvinced and he actually shifted away from Frodo in the chair. “I’ll drop ‘im,” he stated, and Thorin wasn’t sure if he was expressing a concern or a threat.

“Even if you drop him, Uncle Dwalin, I’m sure he’ll be fine!” Kili piped up. “I was!”

“What?” Dis asked sharply, and all the colour seemed to drain from the Scot’s face.

“You’ll be fine, Dwal,” Thorin said, hastily changing the subject before his sister started on the war path. “Just don’t swear, and you’ll be fine.”

Thorin suspected that at least one of the words Dwalin muttered under his breath was fairly explicit, but then Frodo decided to, quite literally, take matters into his own hands. Leaning over from Balin’s lap, the one-year-old reached out and placed a hand on Dwalin’s tattooed forearm.

“Oooo!” he said, fingers tracing the black inked patterns covering Dwalin’s skin.

Dwalin’s posture had grown very rigid as his tattoos were inspected, but Frodo didn’t seem bothered. He continued to run his fingers over Dwalin’s arm, babbling happily as he did so.

“So, a beard _and_ a tattoo fetish,” Bilbo grinned, looking over at Prim and Drogo. “His teenage years are going to be fun for you.”

“Come on, Dwalin, let the bairn say hello.” The warmth in Balin’s voice almost managed to hide his irritation at his brother’s stubbornness.

Dwalin let out a long-suffering sigh. “Alright, alright, hand the lad over.”

It wasn’t without some difficulty, as Dwalin seemed unable to decide how to position his hands, but finally Frodo was settled on the younger Scot’s knee, with one of Dwalin’s forearms wrapped around his waist so that he could still admire the tattoos sprawled across the skin there. Dwalin seemed quite unsure of the baby in his lap, but now the hostility had all but melted away as he stared down at Frodo’s dark curls. Frodo had started making ‘ _brrrrring_ ’ noises, similar to that of a car engine, as his hand moved up and down Dwalin’s forearm.

“Hey, Frodo, can you say ‘Dwalin’?” Fili asked, leaning forward on her chair to see around Balin. “‘ _Dwah-lin’_?”

Frodo ceased his car noises and looked up at Fili, seeming to consider her instruction.

“Dwah-lin,” Fili repeated, and everyone else had fallen silent, waiting to hear the response.

Frodo tilted his head, peering up at the burly Scot, and then very quietly murmured: “Da da.”

Dwalin stiffened; Fili and Kili sniggered. “No… no, lad, I’m not your da,” he said, with a cough, avoiding Frodo’s intent gaze.  

“Say ‘Dwah-lin’, Frodo,” Fili tried again. “‘ _Dwah-Lin_ ’.”

“Da da!” Frodo proclaimed, still beaming up at Dwalin as he kicked his little legs against his knee.

“I suppose that’s close enough,” Dwalin said, sighing, and his voice was suddenly gentle, edged with an undeniably fondness. It seemed he wasn’t so immune to Frodo’s charms after all.

Frodo returned to his tattoo inspection and Dwalin rubbed an affectionate hand over his back. A few moments later, the Scot became aware that everyone in the room was watching him and so he coughed again.

“I think it’s about time he went back to one of his uncles,” he stated, eyeing Thorin and Bilbo, and although his opinion of Frodo had obviously changed in the past few minutes, the comment was laced with a plea.

Both Thorin and Bilbo shifted, preparing to go and rescue Dwalin, but then Fili asked: “Can he walk yet?”

“Not without a little help,” Drogo replied.

Prim nodded. “But if you hold both his hands, he’ll be happy to show off for you.”

“Awesome.” Fili got to her feet and approached Frodo. “Come on then, Mr. Adorable, let’s take you away from the Amazing Tattooed Man.”

Dwalin let out a good-natured growl, but let Fili lift Frodo from his lap. She carefully lowered Frodo down so that his feet were touching the floor, keeping a tight hold of his hands to steady him.

“Shall we go and see your uncles?” Fili asked, grinning down at Frodo. “Are you going to show us just how clever you are?”

Frodo gave a gleeful shriek and then began moving forward, taking almost exaggerated steps as he lifted his feet right off the floor, letting them dangle for a while before placing them in front of him. He wobbled a little, but Fili kept him steady, and they slowly made their way across the circle, moving away from Dwalin and towards Thorin and Bilbo.

“Look at you, with your big boy steps!” Bilbo said, voice full to the brim with affection as he watched his nephew’s approach.

“Bo!” Frodo shouted happily, looking very pleased with himself, and rightly so.

“And we’ve made it,” Fili announced, bringing Frodo to a stop before Thorin and Bilbo’s chairs. Dain shuffled forward from Thorin’s side, tail smacking against the floor in greeting. “So, mister, whose lap are you after?”

Frodo brought both feet down onto the floor and looked up at his uncles with a frown. Very slowly, large blue eyes moved from Bilbo to Thorin, and then back again.

“I think he’s finding this a very difficult choice,” Bilbo commented wryly.

“You should sit with your Uncle Bilbo for now,” Thorin said, leaning down and speaking to Frodo with a quiet, mock-serious voice. “We’ve had quite a few cuddles already, so it’s his turn now.”

Frodo listened to Thorin’s words with an almost frightening intensity, and then he was lurching towards Bilbo, pulling on Fili’s hands. “Bo! Bah bo!”

“Did he just say ‘Bilbo’?” Fili asked, genuinely impressed as she lifted Frodo from the floor into Bilbo’s waiting arms.

Frodo snuggled into Bilbo’s jumper, curling up against his chest, blue eyes peeking out at Thorin.

“Frodo, can you say ‘Bilbo’?” Thorin prompted gently.

In response, Frodo let out a pronounced yawn, mouth growing wide and displaying his few teeth: the walk across the circle had clearly been a tiring one. “Bo,” he said firmly, hands curling around the soft wool of Bilbo’s jumper.  

“Dr. Grey, Dr. Cox!” Bilbo was leaning around Fili, looking to the doorway.

Thorin followed Bilbo’s gaze to find the two doctors standing there. He tried not to choke on a breath as Dr. Cox offered him a bright smile. Their follow-up session after a round of indisputably successful phone sex had been a very positive one, but he was still getting used to the idea that the doctor knew it had happened at all, let alone the fact that she had helped him and Bilbo analyse the experience.

“Well, this looks like quite the merry gathering,” Dr. Grey said, moving into the room. “My apologies for not dropping by sooner: Dr. Cox and I were trapped in a rather riveting three-hour meeting with the hospital’s board of directors.”

Prim and Drogo had gotten to their feet and they moved forward to greet the doctor. It was then that Thorin realised that as Bilbo’s next of kin, they would have had regular contact with Dr. Grey over the past four years, but this was their first time actually meeting him in person.

“It’s lovely to finally meet you,” Prim said, as she and the doctor shared an enthusiastic hand-shake.

“And you, my dear,” Dr. Grey smiled. “I trust your journey was without incident?”

“Apart from almost missing our connection and Heathrow,” Drogo replied. “Jetlag and large airports don’t really go hand in hand… but we made it.”

“You did indeed.”

Dr. Grey noticed the couple’s eyes had moved to Dr. Cox, who was whispering to Frodo whilst he inspected the impeccably-applied turquoise nail polish on her thumb. It was clear that her name was unknown to them, and Thorin felt heat rising in his cheeks as his heart picked up a heavier thump.

“Ah, and this is Dr. Cox, she…”

Dr. Grey stopped at the warning glare on Bilbo’s face. He obviously hadn’t told Prim and Drogo about their sex therapy sessions, and Thorin tried to match Bilbo’s black look, indicating that he would also prefer it if this information wasn’t outed in front of his family.

“She is another member of our team who has been working with Bilbo,” Dr. Grey finished. He exchanged a humoured glance with Dr. Cox, who seemed used to having her identity as a sex therapist concealed from relatives.

“I love your dress!” Prim said, by way of greeting, as she held out her hand to the doctor.

“Thank you,” Dr. Cox replied, seeming a little taken back. “It’s not my usual style, but I figured if I was going to sit in a board room for an entire afternoon, I might as well look good doing it.”

“Oh, I imagine you can make anything look good, what with a figure like yours.”

At first, Dr. Cox seemed confused by Prim’s compliment, as if she thought she was being mocked, but when she realised just how sincere Prim’s words were, this gave way to a shy, almost surprised, smile. It occurred to Thorin then that Prim seemed determined to make everyone feel unashamedly good about themselves.

“Alas, I’m now expected on ward round,” Dr. Grey said, with a rueful glance at his silver wristwatch.

“And I’ve got a session soon,” Dr. Cox added. “Lovely to meet you both, and you, Frodo.”

With that, the doctors dismissed themselves and ventured back out onto the ward.

“Maybe we shouldn’t teach Frodo to say ‘Dr. Cox’ just yet,” Bilbo whispered, peering down as Frodo adjusted himself against his chest, jabbering as he did so… and one of the random syllables could have definitely been ‘cock’.

“That one’s on you,” Thorin grinned.

“Hey, squidge up, would you, Bilbo?” Fili asked, from where she was still hovering beside her uncles. “I’ve got some photos I want to show both of you.”

Steadying Frodo against him, Bilbo moved closer to Thorin on the low chair and he shifted to accommodate them, wrapping an arm around Bilbo’s back. Fili held her phone out so they could both see, opening her camera roll and selecting a picture of herself with Kili and Frodo.

“So this is a photo of your very photogenic niece and nephews, which should obviously be printed off and put in pride of place in your respective rooms,” she said seriously.

“Agreed,” Bilbo said, with a fond chuckle.

Fili swiped through a few more photos with similar compositions, and then they came to a photo of Bilbo and Frodo which had a ‘play’ symbol over it.

“You… you filmed it?” Bilbo said quietly.

“Oh, shit,” Fili replied, looking stricken. “Was that not okay? I… I thought you might like it to be saved for, er, posterity… you know, big moment and all that… but if –”

“No, no, Fili, it’s fine… honestly,” Bilbo replied, tone warm with reassurance. “I just expect I won’t exactly be looking my best.”

“I’m sure you’ll look perfect,” Thorin said gently, kissing Bilbo’s temple and holding him closer, before turning to Fili, his tone growing stern. “And Fili? No swearing in front of Frodo.”

Fili only seemed amused by the reprimand. “Aye, Captain!”

“Right, shall we have a watch then?” Bilbo murmured, helping Frodo adjust his position so that he could see the camera, careful not to disturb the thumb jammed into his mouth.

Fili hit the play button and Thorin instantly heard his own voice say: ‘Turn to your left’. He cringed a little: he’d been so intent on Bilbo’s reaction that he hadn’t actually noticed Fili recording the proceedings, so who knew what sorts of embarrassing things she might have immortalised in film. However, the focus of her filming had definitely been Bilbo. Thorin watched as his boyfriend’s mouth fell open in shock, as his lips formed a few silent words of disbelief, as he ran to hug his cousins, tears glistening on his face and catching the light, as if Bilbo’s face was actually glowing. Thorin’s stomach was once again bubbling with giddiness, his heart also performing its well-practised gymnastics routine, as the video showed Bilbo gathering Frodo into his arms, and the sheer amount of joy emanating from uncle and nephew almost made Fili’s phone screen seem brighter, more luminescent.

But then the video didn’t stop and Prim was announcing that their visit had all been ‘Thorin’s idea’. Thorin watched as Bilbo all-but lunged at him and pulled him into a kiss. It was a very surreal experience, seeing himself being snogged on camera, and he winced at the look of panic on his face as Bilbo instigated the kiss. Yet, he also couldn’t help but admire the way he and Bilbo came together, fitting perfectly against each other… like Bilbo belonged in his arms.

“Oh, love, I am sorry about that,” Bilbo said, voice contrite.

“It’s okay,” Thorin replied.

“I practically attacked you… and you looked so scared!”

Thorin gave a soft laugh. “I was a bit surprised… but I didn’t mind, promise.”

“Well, it is a lovely video, Fili,” Bilbo said, smiling across at her. “And you’re right: I am very glad you recorded it… even if it is just so I have evidence it actually happened at all.”

Bilbo leaned down and kissed Frodo’s curls again, making him let out a contented hum.

“Oh, and one last thing… I thought this photo was really cute.”

Fili returned to her phone’s camera roll and selected a shot of Bilbo and Frodo, which looked to have been taken whilst they were rearranging the room’s furniture. Fili used her fingers to zoom in a little, and Thorin’s breath caught. His niece didn’t seem aware of just how special a moment she had captured with this candid photo, but Thorin instantly felt its significance with everything that he was.

He vividly remembered holding the photo of a twenty-one-year-old Bilbo on a night out in Birmingham and vowing that he would do anything to see him looking that happy again… and now here it was: the proof that this seemingly unachievable goal had finally been achieved. Bilbo held Frodo in his arms, the two of them studying each other with interest and affection. Bilbo’s posture was relaxed and his smile was brilliant, lighting up his entire face… and he looked happy. So unbelievably happy. And now Thorin’s chest felt tight, but this was not the ominous, anxiety-ridden tightness he was used to… this felt like his heart was swelling inside him, full of warmth and light like an expanding star, and he never wanted it to stop.

“Sweetheart, are you okay?” Bilbo asked carefully, one hand on Thorin’s arm, pulling him from his reverie.

“What?” Thorin whispered. “I… I’m fine.”

“Okay… but you are crying, just a little bit.”

“Oh…” Thorin reached a numb hand up to his face, surprised to find his cheeks were wet.

Bilbo leaned over and kissed one of the tears, the look in his eyes knowing, implying they would be speaking about this later.

And then Fili got to her feet. “I’ll just go and get some more tissues.”

 

…

 

Thorin came to a stop on the stairs as the sounds of splashing and Frodo’s excited burbling filtered through the half-closed bathroom door. Prim wanted to adhere to her son’s usual bedtime routine whilst they were in England, and so, a little earlier than usual due to jetlag, Frodo was having his evening bath. 

Dain nudged at Thorin’s hand, seeming unsure as to why his partner wasn’t moving, but Thorin scratched his ears in reassurance. They continued together onto the landing and then Thorin paused again, hovering, just out of sight, by the bathroom door. He could hear Prim talking to Frodo, followed by more splashing and cooing.

“Thorin, my love, you’re more than welcome to join us.”

Thorin froze, having no idea how Prim had known he was there. But if the last few days had shown him anything, it was that Prim and his sister shared a few terrifying telepathic qualities. Exhaling slowly, he reached out and opened the bathroom door just wide enough so he and Dain could shuffle inside.

“I, er, don’t want to intrude…” he said quietly.

Prim was sitting on the floor next to the bath, sleeves rolled up and top speckled with water, and she waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t be silly, Frodo and I are glad to have you here… Aren’t we, bub?”

Frodo was sitting in his plastic bath seat and his blue eyes lit up as soon as Thorin walked in. He held up foam-covered hands with a jubilant cry of “Four!”.

This was all the invitation Thorin needed and so he settled Dain down in the corner of the bathroom by the sink. He then came to sit next to Prim, carefully lowering himself down onto the floor – ignoring the rather embarrassing cracking of his knees – and leaning against the bath. Frodo greeted him by excitedly slamming his hands down into the shallow water, sending bubbly spray into Thorin’s face.

“I’m afraid there’s no way you’re going to be leaving this room dry,” Prim said, smiling pointedly at her son.

“That’s alright,” Thorin replied, reaching out to give Frodo’s curls a fond ruffle. “I don’t mind.”

“And aren’t you a lucky boy to have all these toys to play with?” Prim fished a chubby rubber seal out of the bath and gave it a squeeze, making Frodo giggle. She then turned to Thorin. “I really must thank you and Dis again for getting all this organised… It honestly did make packing a far more enjoyable activity than I’d anticipated.”

Thorin smiled, surveying the vast array of brightly-coloured bath toys that Dis’ work colleagues had provided. “It was our pleasure… we’re just, er, really happy to have you here.”

Prim’s answering expression was pensive, and there seemed to be a weight behind it which made Thorin’s stomach shudder. She was opening her mouth to reply when she was interrupted by: “Fuck!”

Thorin turned to look at Frodo in shock. “What… what did he say?”

“This is what we meant by his ‘party trick’,” Prim said, with a laugh. “He’s showing you his frog.”

Frodo was indeed holding out a plastic frog towards Thorin. It was bright green and had a key on its back so that it could be wound up and then swim through the water.

“Thank you, Frodo,” Thorin said, unable to stop himself grinning as he accepted the frog. “Shall I wind it up for you?”

“Fuck!” Frodo said in answer, splashing Thorin again.

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’.”

He wound the key as much as it would go and then placed the frog back in the water, watching its plastic arms and legs thrash as it swam about, hitting Frodo’s chubby legs and making him shriek. Thorin and Prim watched the frog’s progress around the bath, Frodo leaning forward to pet it when it came near, and although his eyes were on the water, Thorin still felt the weight of Prim’s gaze before they had been interrupted. And Thorin felt a pang, deep inside his chest, at the thought that Bilbo should be here with them, to share in the closeness of this family tableau… but Bilbo was still in his room at the hospital, and there were reasons for that, reasons that he and Prim had yet to discuss.

When the frog took its last, stuttered strokes, Frodo’s attentions turned to a small pirate ship, complete with sails and cannon, and he began driving it around the bath with the return of his ‘ _brrrring_ ’ sounds. Thorin watched him for a few moments, before slowly turning to Prim, who was waiting for him, the weight back in her expression… and she looked almost nervous as she offered him a smile sadder than any he’d seen since they met.

“Would… you like to talk? …About what happened?” Thorin asked, choosing his words carefully, feeling his heart begin thudding against his ribs.

Prim looked away then, one finger discreetly reaching up to her eye before she turned back. “Not if it’s going to upset you… we can do this another time.”

Thorin’s heart continued its heavier beat, but he knew he’d rather not let this conversation stagnate over the course of the visit: there was no use letting it rot, hidden away for weeks, until the words were black and fell away between their fingers.

“I don’t mind talking now,” he murmured.

“Four!” Frodo was holding up a rubber whale for Thorin to inspect.

Tearing his eyes from Prim, Thorin made sure Frodo could see him giving the bath toy a scrutinising once over before nodding his approval. “An excellent whale,” he declared, and Frodo laughed, beginning to dunk the whale into the water.

“I was expecting the phone call.”

Thorin slowly turned back to Prim, unsure of her meaning and unable to form an answer, and so he simply waited.

“Ever since the first one,” Prim said, suddenly looking pale. “I was so scared there’d be a second… it’s almost as if I conjured it.”

Thorin realised Prim was referring to Bilbo’s first suicide attempt, the year before he had come to Ered Luin. It was with a sickly jolt in his stomach that he realised Prim and Drogo had had to go through the agony of almost losing Bilbo more than once. He reached out a hand to Dain, and the Labrador immediately staggered up from his spot by the sink and came to settle against Thorin’s leg, resting his head on his knee.

“Dr. Grey rang us just after ten that evening, and the whole day leading up to it… the whole day I couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t get anything done… and Frodo was more irritable than I’ve ever seen him.”

This feeling of dread was familiar, and Thorin had to screw up his eyes as he remembered waking up with a gasp on that horrible morning, of feeling as if he was going throw up just before the lift doors opened and he was buzzed onto the ward.

“We stayed up the whole night, just waiting for news, and Frodo wouldn’t sleep… wouldn’t stop crying… and when the dawn came things still didn’t seem any better.”

Prim pressed a hand over her mouth, screwing up her eyes, and Thorin had the urge to reach for her, but wasn’t sure his touch would be welcome.

“The letters came two days later,” Prim continued, her voice shaking a little as she withdrew her hand. “One for me and Drogo… One for Frodo, for him to read when he was old enough to understand.”

The ache stirred inside Thorin’s chest. Of course Bilbo would have sent a variation on his last journal entry to his cousins. He could almost picture Rosie adding the stamps to the blue airmail envelopes and posting them for him, having no idea what they contained, no idea what Bilbo was planning…

“I’m sorry, Thorin,” Prim whispered, and her eyes were glittering. “You… you shouldn’t have to hear this… It’s just I haven’t been able to talk to anyone about it since…”

“It’s okay,” Thorin replied. “I understand.”

“Mama?” Frodo was studying his mother with concern, his blues eyes round and full of worry.

“I’m alright, bub,” Prim replied, hastily wiping her eyes again and then reaching out to brush a stray, wettened curl from Frodo’s face.

“Fuck!” Frodo said, holding the plastic, wind-up frog out to Prim, clearly as a means of consoling her, and Prim laughed.

“Thank you, clever boy,” she said, winding up the frog for Frodo. “You always know how to cheer Mummy up.”

“Fuck!” Frodo said again, having been encouraged by Prim’s laughter the first time, before turning to Thorin and, judging that his uncle might also need cheering up, shouted: “Four! Fuck!”

Despite the tension lingering with the steam in the bathroom, Thorin found himself chuckling. “Couldn’t have put it better myself.” He gave Frodo’s pudgy arm a little squeeze.

“It was different though… this time,” Prim said, still watching her son as he tried to capture the swimming frog.

Thorin swallowed, fingers sinking into the fur of Dain’s neck. “How?”

“You,” Prim replied softly. “You made it different.”

Thorin felt the tell-tale prickle of tears in the corners of his eyes and his heart throbbed almost painfully inside his chest. “But I wasn’t enough to stop him.”

“No, but you were enough to make him want to put himself back together again.”

Prim’s face was still pale as she studied Thorin, but there was a passion burning behind her eyes. “Bilbo’s made it very clear to me over the years that he doesn’t believe in God.”

Prim’s fingers unconsciously reached up to touch the small, gold cross held on a thin chain around her neck. Thorin had never noticed it before, but now he remembered Bilbo talking offhandedly about events at his cousins’ church.

“But then he met you… and together you’ve created this beautiful belief in removing obstacles, this belief that there’s still good in this world…”

Prim drew in a shuddering breath, the heels of her hands going to her eyes again.

“You made him believe in something,” she said, eyes shining as she spoke. “And I thank God every day for you, my love.”

Thorin slid his hand across the bathroom tiles, closing the distance between him and Prim, and she took it, twining their fingers together. He blinked back his tears, feeling the ache slowly receding. Maybe Prim was right: Thorin had never been sure what exactly he believed in, but perhaps it would always be better to believe in something than nothing at all.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

“Fuck!” Frodo cried, before dropping the foam-covered, sopping wet plastic frog into Thorin’s lap.

 

…

 

“A little higher… higher… more to your left… higher… okay, there! Stop!”

Fili hopped down from the chair she had been balancing, quite precariously, on and stepped back to admire her handy-work. The banner, which was her and Kili’s brain-child – with everyone else adding a doodle or two – was now hanging over the living room mantelpiece. ‘Welcome Bilbo!’ was written in large colourful letters, with various drawings and symbols added around it, just like the sign Fili and Kili had made to greet their cousins at the airport.

This sign, however, had the addition of Frodo’s tiny hand-prints. Thorin had tried to step in when his niece helped Frodo dip his hands in paint and then pressed them around the letters, but Fili had insisted it would give the banner ‘a personal touch’, arguing that Frodo was the only member of the family who hadn’t added at least one splash of colour. She had then dutifully helped Prim and Drogo clean up their gleeful son as they dangled him over the kitchen sink, making the water run green then blue.

“How’s ‘The Great British Bake-Off’ going?” Fili grinned, indicating the kitchen, which had been the source of enticingly sweet smells all morning.

“Everything’s out of the oven,” Thorin replied. “Your mum’s just getting it all onto the table.”

“Your coffee and walnut cake turn out alright?”

Thorin shifted on the spot. “It, er, looks better… now I’ve cut the burnt bits off.”

Fili smiled. “I’m sure Bilbo’s going to love it.”

At that moment Dis passed by the doorway, carrying a rattling crate of kitchen implements out to her car. Thorin swallowed, quickly moving his eyes back to Bilbo’s banner. It was something he had tried not to dwell on, but the fact remained that they’d had to take certain precautions for Bilbo’s visit. Now that the baking was done and afternoon tea prepared, Dis was going through the motions of removing any potentially dangerous items from their kitchen. He and Fili had already collected all the house’s medication and toiletries into one of her rucksacks, letting Dis lock it in the back of her car. All that remained were Thorin’s anti-anxieties, contained in the small plastic pill box in his jeans pocket. It had never been discussed, but Thorin knew all the locks had been removed from the bedrooms and bathroom before his first escorted leave – he had noticed the fresh paint on his bedroom door, but never said anything.

“Hey,” Fili murmured, as if she knew the darker direction of her uncle’s thoughts. “Today is going to be awesome, alright? Bilbo’s going to have a really great time.”

Thorin nodded. “I hope so.”

“Well, I know so,” Fili said, giving him a gentle nudge. “And I know everything, remember?”

“Bilbo’s said as much.”

“Ah, he’s a good egg.”

Uncle and niece took a moment to survey the room, and then Fili turned to him, a sly grin appearing. “So… are you excited? I mean, this is a pretty big deal… Boyfriend seeing your house for the first time… seeing _your room_ for the first time.”

“ _Fili_ ,” Thorin said, although his warning was only half-hearted.

“Well, if you need me to cause a distraction, so you guys can –”

“Fili!”

Fili danced out of the room before her uncle could take a swipe at her, and he could hear her laughter from the kitchen. Thorin’s gaze returned to the banner as his hand reached down for Dain, sitting at his side, leaning into his leg. He stood there for a long time. He was aware of people bobbing in and out of the room, of Balin taking up residence in the armchair to read the paper, of Dis’ hurried questions before she disappeared again, but he wasn’t pulled from these feelings of detachment until Kili ran into the room.

“Bilbo’s here! Bilbo’s here! Bilbo’s here!”

His nephew’s voice was going off like a siren, and Thorin’s heart was suddenly pummelling his ribs and his throat felt dry. This was it… Bilbo was actually here, away from the hospital, about to step into Thorin’s home.

“Okay, everyone into the living room!”

Dis began shepherding everyone inside, Prim, Drogo, and Frodo reappearing from upstairs and Dwalin and Fili returning from the kitchen.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” she whispered, brushing Thorin’s arm.

Thorin drew in a deep breath. “Y-yes… I’m fine.”

“Do you want to go and wait with Kili in the hallway… so you’re ready to get the door?”

“Oh, right… yes.”

“Come on, Uncle!” Kili said gently, tugging at his hand, and Thorin appreciated his nephew taking the lead as he was coaxed out into the hallway.

Uncle and nephew stood side by side in front of the door and Thorin heard the crunch as Bilbo and Rosie made their way up the drive, heard the sound of an engine as their taxi pulled away. And then there was a knock at the door, and Thorin’s heart skipped a beat.

“You should get it, Uncle Thorin,” Kili whispered, looking up at his uncle with a small smile.

Thorin straightened up, breathing deeply in through his nose, and then reached out and opened the door. Bilbo and Rosie were standing on their doorstep wearing identical grins, although Bilbo’s did look a little more nervous.

“Hello,” Bilbo said, green eyes locking on Thorin as his grin morphing into a shy smile.

“Hello,” Thorin replied, his stomach jumping about inside him.

They stared at each other for one long minute, seeming uncertain what else they could possibly say to express the momentousness of this visit, and Thorin wasn’t sure he had the words to describe how wonderful yet how surreal it was to have Bilbo actually standing in front of him, in Chapel Allerton, miles and miles from the ward.

“Okay, so as beautiful as this moment is, it’s actually bloody freezing out here… so would you mind inviting us in, Thorin?”

Thorin and Bilbo returned to themselves with a jolt as Rosie broke the silence, wrapping her arms around herself to demonstrate the low temperature.

“Oh, er, sorry,” Thorin said, coughing. “Yes…  Please, come in.”

He and Kili shuffled back to let Bilbo and Rosie move into the hallway, and he shut the door behind them.

“Welcome to Chez Oakenshield,” Thorin murmured, unable to stop smiling as he took Bilbo’s hand.

“Thanks, love,” Bilbo replied, and then he was slowly rising onto his toes. Thorin leaned down and their lips met for a soft, chaste kiss.

They both smiled as they broke away, but before they had chance to start staring again, Kili was cutting in with: “Hi, Uncle Bilbo! Can I take your coat?”

“Hello, Kili,” Bilbo said, eyes crinkling with amusement. “And yes, you can. What an excellent host you’re being!”

Bilbo was wearing a tailored, dark blue pea coat Thorin had never seen before, and he almost felt sorry to see the younger man shrug it off and hand it to his nephew: it had fitted him perfectly, bringing out the green in his eyes. Thorin made a mental note to tell Bilbo this at some point that afternoon. He shouldn’t have worried about the coat’s loss, however, as Bilbo was wearing a pair of fairly tight black jeans with a grey, cable-knit cardigan layered over a light blue shirt… and he looked beautiful.

“You’re staring,” Bilbo whispered, a shy, self-conscious smile returning.

“You’re gorgeous,” Thorin replied, equally quietly, making Bilbo’s eyes light up.

It was then that Rosie gave a pointed cough.

“Oh, er…” Thorin straightened up. “So… Kili and I are going to give you the house tour, and then we’ve prepared afternoon tea for you in the kitchen.”

“And it smells heavenly!” Bilbo grinned, eyes moving down the hallway to the kitchen.

“We need to go to the living room first,” Kili said, seeming determined to maintain his appointed role as ‘excellent host’.

He then moved down the hallway, excitedly gesturing for Bilbo to follow, which he did, still keeping a firm hold of Thorin’s hand. They entered the living room and a cheer rose up from everyone gathered there. Bilbo’s eyes darted from corner to corner, as if trying to take in every detail. Thorin didn’t miss the way his gaze lingered on the family photographs covering the walls – particularly the ones of his younger, clean-shaven self – and then Bilbo’s eyes settled on the banner above the mantelpiece.

“Oh! You… you actually made a banner,” he said, suddenly sounding bashful.

“Fili and I did the letters,” Kili explained. “But everyone else added something… the hand prints are Frodo’s.”

Bilbo continued to stare at the banner, and Thorin sensed he too was feeling a little overwhelmed by the surreal nature of the situation. “Well, it looks lovely, Kili.”

“Bo!”

Bilbo’s eyes moved from the banner to search out Frodo, who was sitting on Prim’s knee by the window. “Hello, my dear Frodo,” he grinned, going over to greet his nephew, making sure Thorin tagged along with him.

He leaned down and kissed Frodo’s curls, making the one-year-old babble with delight. He then exchanged a few quiet words with Prim and Drogo before turning to find Dis, standing by Balin at the other end of the room.

“You’ve got a beautiful home, Dis,” he said, with sincere smile. “Thank you for letting me come to visit.”

Dis lowered her head in quiet acknowledgement. “We’re really glad you’re here, Bilbo.”

“Shall we go to the kitchen now?” Kili suggested, moving back towards the doorway.

“Of course,” Bilbo said, eyes returning to Kili. “I’d love to find out the source of those wonderful smells!”

“It’s this way!”

Thorin, Bilbo, and Rosie, along with Dain, followed Kili out into the hallway and then into the kitchen. The chaos of the morning’s baking had been cleared away with military efficiency and now the kitchen worktops looked positively spotless. And there was a very impressive spread laid out on the table in the middle of the room. There was a stack of triple-chocolate muffins, plates of cupcakes and scones, a tray of flapjack, and Thorin’s coffee and walnut cake (minus the burnt bits) sat at pride of place at the centre of the arrangement of baked goods.

“You… you did all this… for me?” Bilbo said, looking to Thorin in disbelief.

Thorin squeezed his hand. “Of course… We’d be poor hosts if we didn’t feed you during your visit.”

Bilbo nodded, surveying the kitchen again, and then he let out a shuddering breath, his eyes glistening. “Oh, damn…” He reached up to wipe his eyes. “How long did I last, Rosie?”

Rosie gave him a sympathetic smile as she checked the fob watch on her scrubs. “About eight minutes, fifty seconds.”

“Longer than I thought I would,” Bilbo admitted, letting Thorin wrap an arm around him and kiss the top of his head.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Thorin murmured, letting Bilbo lean into him. “Now… would you like to see the rest of the house?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three chapters to go! 
> 
> And can I please direct your attentions to this absolutely gorgeous piece of ‘Obstacles’ fanart by Shipsicle. It’s Frodo and his Uncle Four, and it’s beautiful! 
> 
> http://shipsicle.tumblr.com/post/147490299821/four-a-remover-of-obstacles-chapter#notes
> 
> I’d also just like to give another nod to the artists who’ve been wonderful enough to draw things for this fic over the past couple of years. Please do check out their art if you haven’t already.
> 
> Thorin (One… Two… Three… Breathe) by AmbiguouslyGayBagginshield:  
> http://majesticbagginshield.tumblr.com/post/110280785799/fanart-for-a-remover-of-obstacles-my-favourite
> 
> Thorin and Bilbo reading by thehobbitpanda/Demonatic:  
> http://thehobbitpanda.tumblr.com/post/116910319976/thehobbitpanda-my-fanart-for-the-lovely-fanfic
> 
> Bilbo in his Birmingham hoodie by kaninenkung:  
> http://kaninenkung.tumblr.com/post/127655546996/bilbo-kind-of-how-i-picture-him-in-a-remover-of
> 
> And thank you all so much for sticking with this story for so long - 'Obstacles' celebrates its second birthday in five days, and I know we would never have reached this point if it wasn't for all your encouragement and support ;)


	55. Chapter 55

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! First of all, just a heads up: this is quite a long chapter, so please don’t miss your commutes or meetings or other important things! I know I’ve almost been late to work a couple of times because of fic, so again, just wanted to give you all fair warning ;)
> 
> Secondly, this is, technically, the fic’s penultimate chapter, as Chapter 57 will be a regular update-sized epilogue… Gosh, I can’t believe we’re so close to the end! 
> 
> And so, without further ado, here’s Chapter 55.
> 
> There will be onesies…

Thorin watched as Bilbo ran his fingers over the raised patterns of the wallpaper as they climbed the stairs. It was like he was reading Braille, trying to decipher every detail of the house. Thorin had noticed the way Bilbo’s eyes moved restlessly around each room they entered together. At first he’d thought it was because the younger man was nervous, but now he realised Bilbo was very probably trying to commit everything he saw to memory. He had once told Thorin he didn’t like not being able to clearly picture what he was doing when he was away from the hospital, but now he supposed this might help combat any lingering traces of separation anxiety.

“So, this is the bathroom!” Kili had reached the landing first and was gesturing into the family bathroom with the gusto surely only the twelve-year-old could manage when showing off a toilet and sink.

Bilbo peeked through the door and Thorin came to stand behind him, unsure as to what commentary he could possibly offer. Having already been part of the Chez Oakenshield house tour during Thorin’s first escorted leave, Rosie moved further down the landing, obviously deciding she would survive without seeing the bathroom again.

“Ah, so that’s the infamous wind-up frog,” Bilbo said, clocking the plastic toy which was sitting on the side of the bath. He glanced back at Thorin with a smirk.

“It is,” Thorin replied. “I almost slipped on it when I showered this morning.”

Bilbo snorted. “Did you shout ‘frog’?”

“Something very similar.”

“Shall we go see Mum’s room now?” Kili asked, seeming perplexed by his uncles’ conversation but sensing he probably shouldn’t ask.

“Of course,” Bilbo smiled. “Lead the way, Kili.”

“Prim, Drogo and Frodo are sleeping in here at the moment, so Mum’s sleeping in Fili’s room,” Kili explained, as their little party moved into Dis’ bedroom.

Again, Bilbo’s eyes seemed to map the space, taking in the large windows and the bookshelves, before moving over the room’s new additions like the toys and the travel cot set up at the end of the bed. Thorin didn’t miss the way Bilbo’s expression grew more ruminative as he looked to the photo of Dis and Vili on their wedding day. It was probably the first time he had seen a picture of Vili.

“Okay, next is Fili’s room,” Kili announced, when he felt his tour group had had sufficient time to look their fill.

They moved down the landing and shuffled into Fili’s room, and Bilbo’s smile was instantaneous. “You’re right,” he whispered to Thorin. “You can tell this is Fili’s room.”

Thorin remembered the first moment he had seen his niece’s bedroom and felt that everything, from the golden trinkets to the fairy lights to the beaded bedding was distinctly Fili-ish. There had been a few new additions from the Oriental Museum – Fili had pointed out they were replica artefacts, she hadn’t just been helping herself whilst cleaning displays – and the photo collage above her bed had grown too, sprawling almost to the ceiling with added pictures of her with Thorin, Dis and Kili. Thorin spotted that Frodo and Bilbo also made appearances amongst them.

“Fili’s sleeping on the blow-up mattress at the moment and Mum is sleeping in her bed,” Kili said, toe nudging the aforementioned mattress. “They had an argument about it.”

“Oh?” Bilbo asked, brow furrowed.

Thorin knew Bilbo was remembering what he’d heard about how tumultuous the mother-daughter relationship had been in the past, and so he sought to reassure him: “Fili insisted that Dis sleep in her bed, but Dis kept saying she would sleep on the mattress… But then Fili told her to ‘stop being such a bloody martyr’ and that kind of settled it.”

“I’m glad,” Bilbo said, with a chuckle. “Maybe it will’ve done them some good to spend some time together?”

“I think so,” Thorin replied, smiling.

It was true that he had been a little apprehensive about his sister and his niece living in such close quarters for two weeks, but after the initial bickering about sleeping arrangements, there had been no further arguments. In fact, for the past few days, Thorin had been dropping off to the sounds of Dis and Fili in deep discussion about everything from university to feminist theory to their respective bucket lists.

“Uncle Thorin’s room next!” Kili said, deciding it was time to move the tour along.

Thorin didn’t miss the meaningful looks exchanged between Bilbo and Rosie.

“Actually, Kili, I think we’d like to see your room first,” the nurse said kindly.

“Oh, okay, sure!” Kili seemed completely unfazed. “My room’s in the attic, Uncle Bilbo, this way…”

With Thorin still trying to figure out Bilbo and Rosie’s silent exchange, Kili led their party up the second flight of stairs to his bedroom. He watched as Bilbo’s eyes once again roved from corner to corner, from floor to ceiling, and Thorin recognised the same nervousness from when his nephew had first shown him his room, which he clearly felt was a representation and an extension of himself.

Bilbo moved over to inspect the wall covered with Kili’s drawings and photocopies of his English homework, and Kili shadowed him, fidgeting with his t-shirt.

“I got a Level 5a for that book review,” he said, trying to push confidence into his voice. “That’s two sub-levels above my End of Year target.”

“Oh, that’s excellent, Kili, well done!” Bilbo said, beaming. “I particularly love this bit where you talk about ‘juxtaposition’.” He indicated the review’s third paragraph. “You’ve got a superbly analytical mind.”

Kili suddenly grew quite bashful. “Miss Silvan taught me that word… She said that paragraph is like Level 6, but I needed to be, er, consistent with my vocabulary and punctuation to get the whole thing up to a Level 6.”

“I’m sure you’ll get there, and very soon by the sounds of it,” Bilbo said, putting a hand on Kili’s shoulder, and Kili smiled up at him.

“Thanks, Uncle Bilbo.”

Kili showed Bilbo around the rest of his room, which included a crash-course on archery equipment, as well as a detailed commentary on his Morley Harriers medals and his expanding bookshelves.

“Oh, I forgot, you still haven’t seen Uncle Thorin’s room!” Kili said, as if returning to himself as he slipped a book back onto the shelf above his bed. “Sorry, Uncle Bilbo… I’ve been going on a bit.”

Thorin couldn’t help but smile at Kili’s phrasing, which he’d obviously picked up from somewhere else.

“We’ll go there now,” Kili said, slipping back into tour-guide mode. “Uncle Thorin’s cleaned his room like four times this week and he even _hoovered_ it this morning.”

Kili sounded scandalised and Bilbo only laughed.

“Thanks for that, mate,” Thorin said, ruffling Kili’s hair as his cheeks coloured.

“Love, you do realise I’m not going to dump you over a dirty carpet?” Bilbo whispered, as they made their way back down the attic stairs.

“I just wanted everything to look nice for you,” Thorin replied, aware that he was starting to sound like a sullen puppy.

Bilbo squeezed his hand and leaned over to kiss his shoulder.

“Right, Kili, I think your mum needs your help in the kitchen to get afternoon tea ready,” Rosie said, turning to Kili with a smile.

Kili’s eyes moved from Rosie to his uncles, and then realisation seemed to dawn. “ _Ohhh_ … okay,” he said, and he was actually grinning. “See you downstairs then.” And with that, Kili excused himself.

“Well, I tried to be subtle,” Rosie said, with a shrug.

Bilbo _tsk_ ed. “You should know Kili’s far too clever for that.”

“You… you asked to see my room last so we can, er, have some time alone?” Thorin said, only just cottoning on.

“Rosie, you have, however, managed to outwit my ridiculously handsome boyfriend.” Bilbo kissed Thorin’s shoulder again.

Rosie only rolled her eyes, and then her tone became stern. “Okay, you’ve got fifteen minutes. The door stays open and I’ll be sitting in Fili’s room.”

“Yes, _Mum_ ,” Bilbo replied, starting to sound a little giddy.

“Bilbo Baggins, you call me ‘Mum’ again and I’ll make you read through forty pages of work audits and check them for typos.”

Bilbo was about to offer a no-doubt witty retort, but then Rosie was opening Thorin’s bedroom door, looking about ready to simply push them inside.

“Okay, okay,” Bilbo grinned, before taking Thorin’s hand and leading him through the doorway.

Rosie ensured the door was left ajar and then they heard her move into Fili’s room and settle herself at the desk. Bilbo’s eyes roamed over every nook and cranny, jumping from the whiteboard (which had ‘BILBO’S ESCORTED LEAVE’ written in enormous letters in the Wednesday column) to Thorin’s bookshelf, to the photos on his bedside table. His fingers slowly slipped from Thorin’s hand as he walked over to the window. At first Thorin thought he was going to inspect Fili’s statue of Ganesh which was sitting on the low sill, but Bilbo’s gaze was definitely fixed on a point beyond the room.

Thorin settled Dain down in his bed and then came to stand behind him, making sure Bilbo knew he was there, and then slowly slid his arms around his waist, resting his chin on his shoulder. “Okay?” he murmured.

Bilbo leaned back into him with a hum. “I was just wondering what you saw every morning when you woke up.”

“It’s better when the trees aren’t so bare,” Thorin replied, his own eyes moving over the view that had grown greyer with the November rain and inevitable tread towards winter.

They were quiet for a long time, seeming content to just bask in each other’s warmth, and then Thorin gently kissed Bilbo’s neck. “I’m glad you’re here,” he said softly. He knew it had been said already, by several different people, but Thorin couldn’t really find any other words to express the fact that this didn’t quite feel real, more like a very, very good dream.

Bilbo slowly turned in his arms. “So am I,” he replied, before his expression grew more mischievous. “So, Captain Oakenshield, do I have permission to sit on your bed?”

“Oh… er, yes… of course.” Thorin should have felt frustrated with just how quickly Bilbo could get him completely flustered, but today he was going to let it slide.

Bilbo went and sat down on the edge of his bed, slipping off his shoes. He then patted the duvet at his side, indicating that Thorin should join him, which he did, probably far too eagerly. They sat there, hands in their laps, avoiding looking at each other… and Thorin was suddenly hit with the awareness that they were almost acting like teenagers again, filled with nerves at bringing someone home for the first time, terrified of their parents walking in.

Thorin was searching for something to say to break them out of this adolescent tension when Bilbo suddenly fell back, wriggled to the middle of the bed, and then promptly began waving his arms and legs as if he was making snow angels.

“You’re right, your bed really is big,” he commented lightly.

“Much better now you’re in it,” Thorin said, sliding his hand over the covers so he could twine their fingers together.

“Look at you, Mr. Smooth,” Bilbo grinned, before shuffling over so Thorin could lie down with him.

They both turned onto their sides, and Thorin was left very unsurprised that it took them all of twenty seconds to start kissing. His arm slipped around Bilbo’s waist and Bilbo’s toes trailed over his ankle as their lips met with a vengeance. It had actually been almost a week since they had had any time alone together, with Thorin always bringing Prim, Drogo, and Frodo with him to the hospital to visit. They both, therefore, seemed quite intent on making up for lost time and Bilbo’s tongue met with no resistance as it slowly slipped into Thorin’s mouth. Thorin was happy to follow Bilbo’s lead with the kissing, moving his mouth to match the younger man’s pace, just focusing on the taste of him, his hot breath in his mouth, his toes against his bare ankle.

All too soon, Bilbo was pulling away, leaving a trail of kisses down Thorin’s jaw as he did so, and then he kissed his nose for good measure.

“That was nice,” Thorin said, because he felt he should say something, and because part of him hoped they might get another round of snogging in before Rosie came to herd them back downstairs.

“Thorin… I want to talk to you about something,” Bilbo said quietly, and Thorin’s posture immediately grew rigid.

“If I’ve done something wrong…” he began, mouth dry and heart pounding.

But Bilbo shushed him. “Oh no, sweetheart, no… not at all. You’re wonderful. I just…” He drew in a slow breath. “I know since our joint sessions with Dr. Cox started we’ve been wanting to… well, to move our relationship on a bit, but I just wanted to ask…” Bilbo looked down, seeming unable to meet Thorin’s gaze. “Well, of course we can, er, fool around like we have been doing… but the first time we actually make love, I don’t want it to be in Ered Luin… I want it to be in a bed, in a house, where it’s just the two of us, where there’s no doctors, no nurses, no checks, nothing to interrupt us… Is that okay? I mean, I know it would mean waiting, but…”

“Shhh, Bilbo,” Thorin said gently, unable to deny the relief he felt that this was what Bilbo wanted to talk about. He reached a finger out and hooked it under Bilbo’s chin, lifting it so he could see his face. “Of course that’s okay. I don’t mind waiting.”

“You’re sure?” Bilbo whispered, sounding unconvinced.

“Positive. I’d rather Radagast didn’t walk in when I’ve got your ankles by my ears and ask if we need anything.”

Bilbo burst out laughing and Thorin couldn’t help but grin as all the anxiety was dispelled from his boyfriend’s expression.

“Now, seen as you’ve been so nice about it,” Bilbo said, and he was looking mischievous again. “I figured I might let you have a go at some actual, real-life bum fondling.”

“What?” Thorin sputtered, feeling as if all the air had been knocked from his lungs.

“I’d quite like to get on top of you, if that’s okay? Just straddle your waist so you can have a feel of my bum?”

Thorin’s heart was hammering against his ribs as he looked across at Bilbo, trying to figure out if he was actually joking.

“But if… if you’d rather I didn’t, that’s fine,” Bilbo said, obviously misinterpreting Thorin’s stunned silence as a rejection… and Thorin couldn’t have that.

“No… I… I’d like that,” he said quietly, his heartbeat thrumming in his ears.

Bilbo still looked doubtful. “You really don’t mind?”

“Bilbo, just get on top of me!” Thorin’s eyes widened as the words left his lips, making him sound far more like a drill-sergeant than he’d intended. “S-sorry, I didn’t mean to shout…”

Bilbo only smiled and then, maintaining eye contact and with careful movements, he rose onto his knees and settled his thighs either side of Thorin’s waist, not quite sitting on his stomach, and leaned down so his hands were either side of his shoulders. “Still okay?”

“Yes,” Thorin said, exhaling as his hands tentatively came to settle on Bilbo’s hips.

“Good,” Bilbo replied, voice breathy again as he kissed his neck. “Now… move your hands.”

Never one to disobey a direct order, Thorin slid his palms over Bilbo’s jeans until he was cupping his bum through the tight fabric.

“Is this okay?” Thorin said, tone hushed.

“It’s lovely,” Bilbo answered, eyes half-lidded. “Is it alright if we have a bit of a snog whilst you explore?”

Thorin swallowed. “That sounds good.”

Bilbo was smiling as he lowered his lips to Thorin’s and they resumed their rather energetic kissing from before, although Thorin found he was content to let Bilbo do exactly what he wanted with their mouths so that he could shift his focus to his hands as they gently squeezed Bilbo’s backside. The movements of his fingers were hesitant at first, but when they met with no resistance, no signs of distress from Bilbo – whose attentions seemed to be living solely for Thorin’s tongue – Thorin grew a little bolder, turning his movements towards massage, and Bilbo hummed into his mouth at the change.

Eventually, they both had to come up for air, and Bilbo broke away with reluctance, although he looked fairly satisfied with himself as he folded his arms on Thorin’s chest so he could rest his chin on them, peering down at him with a smug smile. “Okay?” he asked quietly.

“Yes,” Thorin grinned, giving Bilbo’s bum a pat for good measure.

“I’m not crushing you, am I?”

“No… no, it’s nice.”

Thorin couldn’t deny just how good it felt to have Bilbo’s weight on him, and he was in no hurry to have him move. He closed his eyes, savouring these precious moments of peace and privacy where they could be wrapped around each other, revelling only in the warmth and closeness of it all.

When Thorin opened his eyes again, Bilbo was still watching him, but his gaze was drawn to Bilbo’s wrist where a silver watch glinted beneath his cardigan sleeve: he hadn’t noticed it until now. It was the watch Ori and Bifur and their families had bought him for his birthday. Bilbo hadn’t been able to wear it because the scars on his wrist were still healing, but now it seemed enough time had passed… and Bilbo was able to don this reminder of just how much time he still had left.

“You framed our first photo together,” Bilbo murmured, and Thorin realised he hadn’t picked up on the directions of his musings. Instead, he was looking to the bedside table, where the photo of him and Thorin, onesie-less from the waist up, was sitting in a frame next to the one which held the photo of Thorin with Fili and Kili on Cringle Moor.

“Only because you won’t let me display the one of you at The Nightingale,” Thorin said, with a smirk.

Bilbo smiled, before his expression became more pensive. “You have a lot of photos at your house… It’s lovely.”

Thorin held his breath as Bilbo looked away, resting his cheek on his folded arms. His stomach tightened a little, but still Thorin decided there might never be a better time to ask. “You have a lot of photos too,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “Of Prim and Drogo and Frodo… I know you said you wanted to leave the reason why you won’t put them up to my imagination, but I was wondering… if you want to talk about it now?”

Bilbo’s comment had been made months ago, long before they had been given reasons to start being truly honest with each other, and so Thorin hoped that, after everything, Bilbo might be able to open up.

Bilbo had grown very still against Thorin’s chest, and for a moment he thought he might have just single-handedly ruined the escorted leave, but then Bilbo let out a controlled breath.

“It’s for rather prosaic reasons really,” he said, although he didn’t quite have Thorin fooled. “After everything that happened to my unit, to Hamfast… I just couldn’t bear being surrounded by photos of my family day in, day out, being reminded that they would be ashamed of me if they knew what I’d done.”

Thorin was about to protest when Bilbo continued: “Also, I suppose I felt like I didn’t deserve them… All the families of the men in my unit lost their fathers, their brothers, their husbands… but my family didn’t lose me. I hated being reminded of that.”

Thorin reached up to rub Bilbo’s arm, thumb tracing his shoulder.

“And then there was the fact that I was still playing at make-believe… pretending that there would be nobody to miss me if I died.”

It would be easy to argue with the logic laid out before him, to get quite emotional over these assertions, but Thorin knew Bilbo didn’t want that. He had come a very long way in past weeks and seeking to undermine previous notions wasn’t going to help anything, and so instead, Thorin replied: “I understand.”

Bilbo reached down and pressed his mouth to Thorin’s, letting his lips linger, his lids fluttering shut. They took a few moments to simply breathe together, and then Bilbo murmured: “But I think I might like to put one or two up in my room now.”

Thorin felt his own eyes light up at the prospect and all it signified. “Okay… Would you like me to pick you up some frames?”

“Please. I’ll give you the money.”

“You’ll do no such thing.”

Bilbo seemed about ready to argue when there was a knock at the door.

“Alright, boys, put your pants back on, we’re expected downstairs!”

“Charming as ever,” Bilbo huffed, before rolling off Thorin and lying down at his side. “Well, time for us to go and be sociable, I suppose.”

Thorin felt Bilbo’s reluctance to leave the privacy of his room and gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. “It’s not like you to want to avoid eating cake.”

“I don’t know, I feel torn between my desire to lie on top of you again and my desire for homemade baked goods…”

“I made you a coffee and walnut cake.”

“Ah, well the cake might just win it then.”

Bilbo slowly pulled himself into a sitting position before rising from the bed and padding around to his shoes.

“And I know Balin wants to talk to you about your PhD proposal, so you’ll enjoy that,” Thorin said, also getting to his feet.

“Ah, yes… I should’ve brought the draft with me today. Well, I’ll make sure I have it ready for him to look at tomorrow.”

Sensing that Rosie might be about to burst into the room with a bucket of water, Thorin roused Dain from his bed and then reached for Bilbo’s hand, guiding him back towards the door. They found Rosie waiting for them on the landing and her smile was exactly the same as it had been the morning after he and Bilbo had first been intimate: the morning Bilbo told him that the nurses really did know everything.

“I think you’re wanted in the kitchen, Bilbo, seen as Dis wants you to have first pick of everything,” Rosie explained, and Thorin was surprised she’d limited her teasing to one comment.

“Excellent, I can’t wait to sample it all,” Bilbo replied, and then he led the way down the stairs to the kitchen.

Dis was waiting for them with plates and a cake slice, which Bilbo took eagerly before making a beeline for Thorin’s coffee and walnut cake. Thorin was a little anxious - he'd spotted a burnt bit of sponge that he’d missed - but still he found himself watching fondly as Bilbo started humming, the way he always did when good food was involved.

“Bilbo, Thorin, my loves?”

Thorin looked up to see Dis and Rosie had slipped from the kitchen and Prim and Drogo had arrived, having obviously left Frodo in the care of one of his many admirers in the living room.

“Hello,” Bilbo smiled, depositing his plate on the table behind him. “I can tell you made those scones, Prim, they look wonderful.”

“Well, I used my nana’s recipe to the letter, so hopefully they’ll taste as good as they look,” Prim replied, but there was a certain strain in her voice that had Thorin straightening up.

“There’s something we’ve been meaning to ask both of you,” Drogo began, putting an arm around Prim’s waist. “We just wanted to check on a few things first, but now we know… We’re wanting to get Frodo christened whilst we’re out here. Turns out the hospital’s chaplaincy have a vacancy for next week and Prim and I were wondering if… well, if you’d like to be Frodo’s godfathers?”

“I… I thought you’d already had Frodo christened at your church?” Bilbo asked quietly.

“It didn’t make sense to do it when you couldn’t be there,” Prim replied, eyes shining. “And now we’re thinking two godfathers would be better than one!”

“That is, if you both want to…” Drogo added.

“Of course,” Thorin said, surprising himself by speaking before Bilbo. “I’d be honoured to be Frodo’s godfather.”

“As would I,” Bilbo said, and then he was pulling Prim into a hug.

Thorin moved forward to shake Drogo’s hand, feeling the fuzzy warmth and giddiness from when he’d first met the cousins returning with full-force. He’d been an uncle to Fili and Kili, but he’d never been a godfather before, and he was feeling both humbled and, strangely enough, quite excited by the responsibility. He also knew it was just another part of the visit that was bringing them all closer together… and ultimately making Bilbo feel less alone, reminding him that he was loved.

“Now, I think you’re both needed in the living room,” Prim said, drawing away from Bilbo.

“Should I bring my cake?” Bilbo asked, glancing behind, almost longingly at the slice of coffee and walnut cake.

“Best leave it for the moment, my love,” Prim said, look conspiratorial.

Intrigued, but also a little wary, Thorin followed everyone back through to the living room and found that one of the sofas had been pushed forward so people could stand behind it – which was exactly what Dwalin, Balin, and Dis were doing. Fili, with Frodo on her lap, was sitting on one side of the sofa with Kili perched on the sofa’s arm. She passed Frodo over to Prim and the cousins settled down at the other side of the sofa, leaving space in the middle.

“What’s going on?” Thorin asked, raising an eyebrow at the arrangement.

“First Oakenshield-Baggins family photo,” Fili replied, patting the spare spot of sofa next to her. “And we need you lovebirds in the middle.”

Bilbo took Thorin’s hand and led him forward. Everyone had to shuffle up slightly so they could both fit in the middle of the sofa, but soon they were settled, with Dain shuffling in to sit between Thorin’s knees. Rosie then took her place as official photographer, holding up Fili’s iPhone and adjusting the zoom.

“Are you going to want a frame for this one as well?” Thorin grinned, kissing Bilbo’s temple and wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

“Oh, yes, I should think so,” Bilbo replied, and he was positively beaming.

“Right, squish in everyone,” Rosie said, gesturing with her free hand. “Okay, excellent… Now, on the count of three, everyone say ‘Cake!’”

There was some laughter as everyone shuffled closer together.

“Make sure you’re actually smiling, Dwal.”

“Shut it, laddie.”

“Okay… Three… Two… One… Cake!”

And thus it was with a chorus of 'Cake!', followed by a host of  luminescent smiles, that the first ever Oakenshield-Baggins family photo was taken.

 

…

 

“And who’s that?”

“Kee!”

“Good! And who’s this? Who is it?”

“Mama!”

“And who’s standing next to her?”

“FOUR!”

Thorin couldn’t help but grin as Frodo all but bellowed his name, little feet kicking into the carpet with excitement and Fili had to pull her iPhone away lest it go accidentally flying across the living room. He would never accuse his soon-to-be godson of favouritism, but he couldn’t deny how the giddy feelings multiplied when Frodo became beside himself excitement whenever his name was mentioned or he walked into a room.

After spending the afternoon visiting hours with Bilbo, the Oakenshield household had committed itself to a quiet evening in – that was, everyone except Dis, who had been invited out for a colleague’s birthday. Thorin had long suspected his sister had been avoiding socialising because she still held family as her priority above all else, and this was only confirmed when Dis insisted she didn’t need to attend, that the person hadn’t been working at Blue Mountains all that long, so her presence wasn’t really necessary.

Thorin and Fili, along with Prim, had been involved in persuading Dis to have an evening away from them all, with Fili promising her mother she wouldn’t return only to find a crater where the house had once stood. And then, most surprisingly, Fili had helped her mother choose her outfit and then Dis had sat at her daughter’s desk without a word whilst she did her make-up for the evening. It seemed sharing a room really was doing wonders for their relationship. Fili and Thorin had then all-but shoved Dis through the front door and watched to make sure she really did drive away.

Prim and Drogo had then been adamant that they would cook dinner for everyone. Thorin had tried to help, but was shooed away, encouraged to spend the time with his niece and nephews in the living room. And so that was where he found himself now, sitting on the floor with Dain snuggled into his leg, and Kili and Fili opposite him with Frodo settled on Fili’s crossed legs as she went through all the pictures she’d taken of his first visit to England.

“Oh, Fee, we should show him the ones of Uncle Thorin and Uncle Bilbo in their onesies!” Kili put in, leaning over and pointing at something – presumably an incredibly embarrassing photo of the infamous sparkly unicorn onesie – on the phone screen.

Fili looked up, eyeing Thorin carefully. “Would you mind, Uncle? There’s like a thousand other photos I can show him if…”

“No, no… I don’t mind,” Thorin said, unable to resist the wide-eyed, puppy-dog look Frodo was giving him, as if he actually understood the conversation. “I’m sure he’d like the photos.”

“Awesome,” Fili grinned. “Okay, Frodo, do you know who this is?”

Frodo seemed confused for a moment, creases appearing on his brow, and then realisation dawned and he let out a shriek, actually clapping his hands together as if he didn’t know how else to vent his excitement. “Four! FOUR!”

“Yeah! See, it’s Uncle Four, and he’s dressed as a unicorn.”

Frodo looked up at Fili, seeming not to recognise this unusual creature, and he let loose a string of questioning babbles.

“So a unicorn is like a horse, like a horsey,” Fili explained, and Kili added to this by making neighing and snorting sounds to demonstrate, which had Frodo giggling. “But it’s a bit different to a horsey because it has a horn right here.” Fili prodded Frodo’s forehead and he reached up to wrap his pudgy fingers around hers.

“Oh my God, Uncle Thorin, you should put it on!” Kili said, and Thorin froze. “You should put the onesie on so Frodo can see! You’ve got it here, right? It’s not at Ered Luin?”

Thorin coughed, already feeling himself going red from the potential embarrassment. “It is here, not at the hospital… but it’s, er, not a very flattering costume, mate.”

“But you look really cool in the pictures!” Kili said, and Thorin couldn’t tell if he was deadpanning or actually being deadly serious.

He was about to offer a spluttered response, but then Kili’s brown eyes grew as wide and round as Frodo’s as he said, with the hint of a whine: “Please, Uncle Thorin! I never got to see you in it and I know Frodo’s going to think it’s really cool too!”

At the mention of his name, and clearly understanding that some kind of encouragement was needed, Frodo started making burbling sounds which turned into high-pitched neighs.

Thorin took in the identically puppyish looks on his nephews' faces, before his eyes moved to Fili. His niece returned an amused smile, which indicated she was willing to get him out of this, but only as a last resort: she wasn’t going to speak up just yet.

Sighing, Thorin rubbed a hand over his beard. “Okay, I will put on the onesie, BUT –” He stressed the word as Kili’s face lit up. “I will only wear it for five minutes maximum… and I don’t want any photos or videos taken. This is only for Frodo… and for you, with your puppy dog eyes.” He gave Kili a playful nudge. “Does that look ever work on your mother?”

“Only if she’s really tired,” Kili replied brightly. “So… you’ll wear it?”

“Yes, but as I’ve said, as long as the paparazzi aren’t present,” Thorin said, giving Fili a pointed look.

“Okay, phone going away,” Fili grinned, slipping her mobile back into her jeans pocket and raising her hands in surrender.

“I can’t believe I’ve just agreed to this,” Thorin said, pinching the bridge of his nose as he pictured the impending light-hearted humiliation, but still aware that he was probably putting on a bit of a show of being melodramatic so they’d go easy on him.

“Nah, you’re gonna look great, Uncle! Isn’t he, Frodo?” Fili said, looking down at Frodo and giving him a squeeze. “Can you say: ‘Yay, Four!’”

“Four! Ay, Four!” Frodo shouted, stamping his feet again.

“There we go! We believe in Uncle Thorin, don’t we? Clap for Uncle Thorin, Frodo!” Fili clapped her hands together in front of her until Frodo and Kili joined in.

Deciding it would be impossible to say no to this show of solidarity from his family, Thorin heaved himself up off the floor and went upstairs to put on the dreaded onesie. He’d thought he’d never have to wear the monstrosity again, but as he pulled the pile of baby blue fur from the bottom of his wardrobe he couldn’t help but picture Frodo and Kili’s eager clapping and cheers. He supposed some things were worth embarrassing yourself for. Dain watched him with concern as he pulled on the onesie and Thorin let the Labrador give him a pep-talk through the form of reassuring licks and nudges. And then they were making their way back downstairs.

Thorin waited until just before he reached the living room doorway to pull on his hood. He then drew in a deep breath before stepping into the room to greet his audience. There was a moment of stunned silence, and then Frodo was squealing and clapping, jumping up and down in Fili’s lap.

“Okay, so I think he may literally be wetting himself with excitement,” Fili said, glancing down at Frodo’s nappy before grinning up at Thorin. “Aww, Uncle, look at how happy he is!”

“You look so awesome, Uncle Thorin!” Kili said earnestly, eyes round and bright. “You look like a fully evolved Pokémon!”

Thorin wasn’t sure being compared to a Pokémon was necessarily a good thing, but Kili’s look of awe was enough for him to know his nephew wasn’t making fun of him at least. Fili, however, seemed to be just about managing to maintain her composure as she flapped at her face a little with one hand.

“You have to do the horn,” she whispered, her voice sounding strained. “Please, please press the horn, he’ll love it!”

“How about we let Frodo press the horn?” Thorin said, grinning down at his nephew, who in turn reached out to him making grabby hands. “Come here then, little one.”

Frodo almost leapt into Thorin’s waiting arms as he was passed over and then his hands were eagerly exploring the soft blue fur, rubbing it between his fingers with obvious delight. “Ooooo!”

“It’s kinda like an all-over-body beard, right, Frodo?” Fili said, finally letting herself laugh.

“Do you want to press the horn, Frodo?” Thorin asked gently, leaning his head forward so he could reach it. Keeping one arm wrapped under Frodo’s bum, he used his free hand to indicate the horn. “You need to press it here.”

It took Frodo quite a few tries, but eventually, just before Thorin intervened, the one-year-old managed to press hard enough and then the horn was lighting up, making a fanfaronade of neighing sounds. Frodo squealed and responded with his own neighing sounds, clapping his hands again. When the lights and sound stopped, however, Frodo looked so despondent that Thorin automatically reached up to press the horn again. It was then that he realised he hadn’t actually felt embarrassed since he’d entered the room. The looks of pure joy on his nephews’ faces had been enough to banish the colour from his cheeks.

“I just want to say I am beyond amused that the responsible adult in the room is the one currently wearing a sparkly, six-foot unicorn onesie… I’m so glad this is my life right now,” Fili said, and Thorin wasn’t sure he had actually seen his niece looking so happy.

“Thorin?”

Thorin froze, before slowly turning round to find Prim and Drogo standing in the doorway, looking quite mystified.

“Erm…” Thorin looked from Frodo to his parents, finally feeling the heat begin to blossom in his cheeks. “I can explain?”

Prim only grinned. “Oh, I don’t think you need to, my love, I don’t think you need to.”

 

…

 

A light breeze weaved its way in and out of the tall windows of Kirkstall Abbey: windows that had not borne glass for almost five hundred years. The twelfth-century monastery had been disestablished during the reign of Henry VIII and now its ruins lay nestled amongst trees by a curve of the River Aire, the crumbling lines of its stone walls rising from the grass like the bones of some enormous, prehistoric beast.

During the summer months, the abbey was teeming with tourists and families having picnics by the river, but today, in the light drizzle of the cool November morning, Thorin found that they were amongst one of maybe half a dozen groups visiting the ruins.

Whilst Dis, Fili and Kili were at school, with Balin and Dwalin returned to Edinburgh for the week before they came back down for the christening, Prim and Drogo had made sure they squeezed in some sight-seeing and if Thorin didn’t have a shift at the AFCO, he was happy to jump in the car with Dain and join them. They had been to Skipton Castle, to Ilkley Moor, to the famous mill at Saltaire that was now a World Heritage Site, and up to Haworth, the home of the Brontë sisters. Thorin had tried to persuade Dr. Grey to let Bilbo join them on at least one of their trips, but unfortunately the doctor had explained that he didn’t feel Bilbo was quite ready for a prolonged visit to a public place, where there would be a myriad of extraneous factors to take into account, and Bilbo himself had agreed. To make up for this, however, Thorin had taken it upon himself to buy a handful of books and guides from every place they visited, and Bilbo had thanked him for the gifts, saying he would read them cover to cover so that when they were able to visit together, he would be the perfect tour guide.

The quiet of the abbey was suddenly shattered as a train rattled past, heading for Leeds city centre. Thorin watched the train disappear into the distance, hearing Frodo babbling excitedly off to his left as Prim tried to get her son to say ‘train’. He’d been standing by the remains of the abbey’s infirmary for some time, lost in thought, as his fingers trailed across the ancient stone, tracing the cracks and the scars left there by both time and war, but now he turned back to their little family, watching as Prim argued with Frodo about putting his coat’s hood up to protect him from the wet mist of rain.

Drogo caught Thorin’s eye and slowly made his way over with a small smile. “Shall we go for a walk?” he asked quietly.

Thorin was a little surprised by the request, but still he nodded, following Drogo as he headed away from the abbey, towards the river. Drogo didn’t speak again as Thorin fell into step at his side, and now he was starting to suspect Bilbo’s cousin probably had an ulterior motive for suggesting a walk. Drogo was a quiet, reserved man: the perfect balance for Prim’s boisterousness, and the two complemented each other immensely. With his shy, retiring nature, Thorin found he and Drogo seemed to have a few things in common and he had very much enjoyed his company over the past couple of weeks. At that moment, however, with Drogo’s silence making his stomach tighten, Thorin would’ve very much preferred it if he’d said something, anything, to indicate why he obviously wanted to speak to him alone.

“You know, I didn’t even know Bilbo existed until I was seventeen,” Drogo began, grey eyes flicking across to Thorin, before moving back to the river. “I found photos and letters when my dad and I were clearing out our attic… Turns out my family lost touch with Bilbo’s parents when he was still only small.”

“Do you know why they lost touch?” Thorin asked softly, realising Bilbo had told him very little of his life before he went to Birmingham… and suspecting there were probably reasons for that.

Drogo coughed to clear his throat. “In all honesty, I think my parents didn’t really approve of Belladonna – Bilbo’s mother. From what they’ve told me, she was quite the free spirit, and there was a bit of a scandal when Bungo brought home a girl with dyed hair and tattoos.”

Thorin had to smile at that: he’d heard some very colourful stories from Bilbo about his mother’s misguided youth, but then he felt a pang in his chest when he thought of the Baggins family's disapproval… how it had ultimately led to Bilbo being abandoned to the foster care system at only twelve years old.

“My father only found out they’d passed away years after the crash,” Drogo continued solemnly. “By the time I found the photos, he had no idea what’d become of Bilbo… So Prim and I decided to find out.”

Thorin saw the spark appear in Drogo’s grey eyes, a light that almost made them appear green like Bilbo’s.

“It was Prim’s idea, to start searching for him,” Drogo said, tone undeniably fond. “We’d only been dating a few months at the time, but by God I knew she was the woman I was going to marry from the moment I met her.”

“I can believe that,” Thorin said, smiling.

“It took us almost six months to track him down. We were in our final year at school by the time we found out he was on roll at the University of Birmingham, studying for the second year of his degree. So, we got in touch and then one day we just got in my car and drove up to Birmingham to meet him. Prim and I were eighteen at the time and we’d never gone further north than Swindon… so it was quite the adventure for us to drive off like that.”

Thorin found himself grinning as he imagined Drogo and Prim going off on their adventure, just as Bilbo’s parents must have done… just as Bilbo himself had done.

“Prim and I didn’t realise what a sheltered life we’d led until we met Bilbo,” Drogo said, with a hint of amusement. “I’d never knowingly met a gay man before, so suffice to say I learnt an awful lot during that first weekend in Birmingham.”

“Was… was Bilbo happy? When you met him?” Thorin asked, thinking of the photo in The Nightingale, which must have been taken the year after Drogo and Prim got in touch.

“Oh, yes, very much so,” Drogo replied, nodding. “I mean, his teenage years hadn’t been easy… what with the bullying, the lack of a stable home… but he was clearly flourishing at Birmingham. He had a lot of friends and was doing well in his studies.”

Thorin sensed there was another ‘but’ coming, and he couldn’t quite let go of the breath he was holding until he heard it.

“I met one or two of Bilbo’s boyfriends during his time at university,” Drogo said, and his tone was careful, making Thorin’s stomach tighten again. “Most of them seemed to be quite nice blokes… but the last one, he never sat right with me and, well, he turned out to be quite a nasty piece of work in the end.”

They came to a stop by the river bank, and Thorin reached his hand out for Dain, sinking his fingers into the Labrador’s fur. He knew that, unlike him, Bilbo had had serious relationships in the past, but they’d never really discussed his ex-boyfriends in any detail, with Bilbo insisting that his ‘X-Files’ were quite a boring topic, before moving the conversation onto another subject.

“Nasty piece of work?” Thorin whispered, feeling the ache rear its head inside his chest.

“Manipulative,” Drogo replied shortly. “But he still left Bilbo completely broken-hearted, and just before he was due to start his master’s as well. It was a long time before he even considered a relationship again.”

With a sickly jolt, Thorin wondered if this ex-boyfriend was actually in his photograph of twenty-one-year-old Bilbo… He would have to stab pins in it and maybe set that bit on fire if that were the case.

“He started seeing someone from his hometown in Sussex whilst he was training,” Drogo said, and the ache in Thorin’s chest only grew at his continued sombre tone. “It got quite serious quite quickly… and then Bilbo came home from his first tour of duty to find them in bed with someone else… seems it had been going on for quite a while.”

Thorin closed his eyes, rubbing a hand over his beard. He wished Bilbo was there with them by the river, so that he could pull him into his arms and never let go. He wasn’t sure why Bilbo had never told him about these scumbags, maybe because he was ashamed, or simply because he didn’t want to remember the rejection… but Thorin was determined, the next time he saw Bilbo, to reiterate just how loved he was.

Drogo turned to him then with a certain resolute fire in his eyes as he spoke: “I know I don’t need to tell you, Thorin, that Bilbo has suffered a lot in his life, suffered far more than any person ever should… So many people in his life have hurt him and left him, and I’m afraid Prim and I left him too when we moved to New Zealand…”

Drogo looked away for a moment, gaze moving beyond the river as he collected himself.

“I hope you know I mean no disrespect, that I’m by no means insinuating anything, but I think, for my own peace of mind, I just need to know… You are in this for the long-haul, aren’t you, with Bilbo? You have no intentions of leaving him?”

At first, Thorin couldn’t deny that he bristled at Drogo’s words, but then he stopped himself. What Drogo was asking was perfectly reasonable.

“I’m not going to leave him,” Thorin said quietly, but firmly. “I love him, and I fully intend to spend the rest of my life with him, if he’ll have me.”

Drogo smiled then, reaching out and putting a hand on Thorin’s shoulder. “I thought so,” he said warmly. “And you make him very happy. Honestly, from the moment you two met, he always had a light in his eyes whenever he spoke about you.”

Thorin actually felt himself growing a little bashful at this revelation. “Thank you,” he murmured.

“Right, well, that concludes probably the most benign shovel talk in history,” Drogo said, turning back towards the abbey.

Thorin was kicking himself that he hadn’t realised that this had been the purpose of the conversation from the beginning, but Drogo was right: compared to Dwalin’s threat of breaking Bilbo’s legs, this had been quite an amenable shovel talk.

Drogo seemed to be following Thorin’s thoughts, as he added, with a laugh: “I know there is no way I’d ever be able to knock you down, so I figured I’d save us both the embarrassment of physical threats.”

Thorin laughed too, and then he and Drogo headed back up the grassy bank towards the ruins, as late morning sunlight managed to force its way through the clouds and come streaming down through the empty windows of the abbey, giving the old stone a new, golden glow.

 

…

 

“I’m sure they’ll be here soon, love,” Bilbo said, putting a consoling hand on Thorin’s arm as he checked his phone again for the third time in two minutes.

It was the morning of Frodo’s christening at Ered Luin’s chaplaincy, and Dis, Fili, and Kili were nowhere to be seen. Thorin had arrived at the hospital with Prim, Drogo, and Frodo to help them ensure everything was ready for the service, and Balin and Dwalin had turned up not long after, saying the rest of the Oakenshield household would be on their way shortly… But with only ten minutes left until everything was due to start, Thorin and Bilbo were still waiting up on the ward whilst everyone else made their way to the chaplaincy.

Slipping his mobile back into his trousers with a growl, Thorin stroked a hand over Dain’s head and tried to convince himself to stay calm.

“And don’t huff like that, you’ll crease your lovely suit,” Bilbo added, with a twinkle in his green eyes.

The special occasion had definitely called for suits and shirts and ties, and so Thorin had found himself in a department store, his first non-virtual shopping experience since the bullet, getting measured for the perfectly tailored suit he was now wearing. They had taken Bilbo’s measurements in his room at the hospital and passed them on so he could also get a suit for the day. The only thing distracting Thorin from his family’s worrying absence was the glorious picture Bilbo painted in his beautifully sharp suit and tie, and so he allowed himself a few more moments of staring whilst his boyfriend was talking to Rosie.

“Ah, here they are!” Dr. Grey moved out from behind the nurses’ station as Dis, Fili, and Kili were buzzed through onto the ward.

“I’m so sorry!” Dis said, sounding slightly breathless as she came to her brother’s side. “The car wouldn’t start, so we were sat on the drive for twenty minutes until we coaxed it into life… How late are we?”

Dis smoothed a few flyaway strands of dark hair from her face, still looking slightly frazzled, and Thorin figured it was his turn to give the reassurance. He squeezed his sister’s shoulder with a warm smile. “You’re just on time. Everyone else is already at the chaplaincy, so we can head down there now, if you’re ready?”

“Mum, my tie!” Kili stepped around his mother, looking panicked as he held out his thin blue tie which was hanging limply around his neck in a rather interesting knot.

“Oh, sorry, darling, I forgot, here…” Dis attempted to loosen the tie, but still seemed to be suffering her hangover of nerves, and so Thorin stepped in.

“I’ll sort you out, mate,” he said, grinning, before turning back to Dis. “Just breathe, okay? We’ve got time.”

Dis nodded, one finger rubbing at her temple as she stepped back.

“Mum, let me fix your hair.”

Thorin did a double-take as Fili moved forward to see to her mother. He’d never actually seen his niece in a dress before: she looked undeniably elegant in her knee-length, dark purple dress and heels, with her blonde hair sleek and straightened. She had swapped the winged eyeliner for subtler, shimmering make-up, and Thorin thought she had never looked more grown-up.

“I know: who knew I could scrub up this well, right?” Fili smirked, when she saw him gawking.

“You look beautiful,” Thorin whispered.

Fili seemed surprised by the comment at first, but then she was beaming. “Cheers, Uncle, you’re looking quite dashing there yourself.”

“Uncle Thorin?”

Thorin realised he’d been ignoring the task at hand and quickly turned back to Kili, who had been waiting patiently with his near-mangled tie. “Sorry, Kili, let’s get this sorted.”

It took quite a bit of cajoling, but finally Kili’s tie fell loose from its knot so Thorin could tie it again with care and precision, pushing it up under his nephew’s shirt collar.

“There you go, mate, now you’re ready.”

“Right, shall we make our way to the chaplaincy, then?” Dr. Grey asked, smiling at the group gathered by the nurses’ station.

With nods and murmurs of agreement, they all headed over to be buzzed through the doors and then pile into the lift. Dr. Grey, Dr. Cox, Rosie, and Radagast had managed to sort out cover for their shifts so they would be able to attend the christening. At first, Thorin had thought the event was going to be a quiet, family affair with many empty seats in the chaplaincy’s pews, but Prim and Drogo – and Bilbo – had insisted on turning it into a true celebration, and Thorin couldn’t blame them. Welcoming new life definitely seemed like something that should be celebrated. And so Ori and Bifur and their families had been invited, along with various hospital staff and the members of Faramir’s support group.

Bilbo reached for Thorin’s hand as the lift chimed for the chaplaincy’s floor and Thorin brushed his thumb over his fingers, mouthing a gentle 'Okay?'.

Bilbo nodded, smiling up at him, his green eyes bright. It was both exciting and nerve-wracking really, making this whole ‘godfather thing’ official, but Thorin was very glad this was something they were going to be doing together.

The lift doors slid open and everyone spilled out into the corridor. Dr. Grey led the way to the chaplaincy, with Thorin and Bilbo bringing up the rear of their party. Turning the corner, they all entered through the double-doors of the large room to a few cheers and warm greetings.

The chaplaincy was a rectangular, high-ceilinged room with pale yellow walls and wooden pews set either side of an aisle that ran straight down the middle to a raised platform. Behind the platform were two slim windows made entirely of beautiful stained glass shapes. The light from the sun beyond shone through them, meaning diamonds of multi-coloured shadows were cast across the walls, making the whole space seem quite magical.

“There he is, the Godfather!”

Thorin turned to find the members of Faramir’s support group standing between the three back pews with their respective assistance dogs. He greeted them with a smile and he could feel Dain practically vibrating with excitement at his side as his tail slapped into his leg.

“Congratulations, my son!” Bert said, holding out a hand for Thorin to shake. “The sprog couldn’t have a better man to look out for him.”

“Thank you all for coming, we’re really glad you could make it.”

Thorin’s eyes moved over the group gathered there, a little embarrassed that the room’s layout meant he couldn’t greet all of them individually. James and Linda were standing in the corner; Linda gave him an enthusiastic wave whilst James lowered his head with a warm smile. Tom was there with his new girlfriend, Briony, who didn’t appear to have run for the hills just yet, and Bill was standing next to them. Graham had also joined them: he and Thorin exchanged small, knowing smiles, signalling their continued truce. Faramir was in the third pew and suddenly Thorin’s heart jolted when he spotted his brother, Lieutenant-Colonel Whitetree, in full-uniform, standing beside him.

“Sir!” Thorin said, quickly jumping into a salute.

“At ease, Captain,” the Lieutenant-Colonel said, with an amused smile. “We’re not on duty here.”

Thorin returned a shyer smile. “It’s good to see you, Lieutenant-Colonel… We weren’t expecting you.”

“Well, I stopped by the AFCO this morning and heard there was quite the special event going on here. I hope you don’t mind my gate-crashing?”

“Of course not,” Thorin said, secretly quite flattered that his new commanding officer would want to attend his godson’s christening.

“And I must commend you on your protégée,” the Lieutenant-Colonel continued, clearly talking about Heather, who had just started her training at AFC Harrogate. “My car broke down during an exercise and she’d fixed it before my mechanic even arrived.”

Thorin couldn’t help but smile at the image of Heather happily throwing herself under the Lieutenant-Colonel’s car and getting the problem sorted with minimal fuss.

“So, are you going to introduce us to your fella, then?” Bert asked, with a wink.

Thorin had only recently ‘come out’ at support group, but the news had been met with much encouragement and well-wishes, especially regarding his relationship with Bilbo. Looking around for his boyfriend, Thorin found him standing with Ori and Bifur. Bilbo saw him looking over and made his way to his side.

Clearing his throat, Thorin ignored the heavy thud of his heart in his ears and drew in a deep breath to make the introductions: “Bilbo, this is Faramir and his brother, my commanding officer, Lieutenant-Colonel Whitetree… The lads from support group: Bert, Bill, James and his wife, Linda, Tom and his girlfriend, Briony, and… er, and Graham.”

Thorin thought he might have fucked up with the way he stuttered over Graham’s name, but no one seemed to notice… and it seemed better to pretend Graham and Bilbo didn’t know each other for the moment, as it didn’t seem fair to either of them to out their rather difficult history in front of their friends.

“It’s wonderful to meet you all,” Bilbo said, being as charming as ever, and Thorin couldn’t help put slip an affectionate arm around his waist. “I’m so pleased you could make it.”

Bilbo was met with more nods and smiles, and then it seemed everyone was being called to take their places so the service could start. Thorin followed Bilbo to the front of the room so they could take their seats on the first pew next to Prim, Drogo, and Frodo. They were passed two copies of the order of service, which Fili had helped the couple design and print.

“Four! Bo!” Frodo wriggled on his mother’s lap, reaching out towards his uncles.

Thorin and Bilbo both waved as Prim shushed him, flattening down the slightly faded, pearly fabric of his christening gown. Thorin knew the beautiful gown was a family heirloom that had been worn by both Drogo and Bilbo at their own christenings. With its lace finishing and beading around the collar, it did look quite dated, but Frodo was making it look stylish in a way Thorin had never managed in his frilly baby clothes.

A hush fell over the congregation as Reverend Puddifoot moved to the wooden lectern at the front of the raised platform. The reverend served the chaplaincy in three of Leeds’ hospitals and she reminded Thorin of the Vicar of Dibley, both in her stature (she was over a foot shorter than himself) and her kind, unflappable demeanour. He and Bilbo had met with her twice before the service to discuss their roles as godparents and both times she’d had them in stitches with her wry, witty outlook on religion, love, and life.

“Now, if you could all be seated, I think we’re ready to begin,” Reverend Puddifoot said, rising onto her toes so that she could beam over the lectern at everyone gathered before her as they fell into silence. “I have asked three times for this lectern to be lowered, but alas, it seems I’ll just have to keep praying for that growth spurt to finally happen.”

There was a titter from the audience and Thorin felt Bilbo brush his hand.

“So, everyone, a very warm welcome to the chaplaincy at Ered Luin. It’s wonderful to see you all gathered here today as we welcome Frodo into our family… I have to say, I don’t think I’ve ever done a service where the dog to human ratio has been so high, but, to quote our first hymn: ‘all creatures great and small’. As long as none of our furry friends raise their legs on my pews, I’m hoping the service will go off without a hitch.”

“I’ll make sure Bill keeps his legs crossed!” Bert shouted out, and there were a few laughs.

Reverend Puddifoot took the heckling in her stride and continued with a smile: “Today is a special day for Frodo and his family, who have flown all the way from New Zealand to be with their cousin, and to meet the new members of their family. There is so much love in this room, and that alone I think is worth the celebration as well as this welcoming of new life. Now, we’re going to kick off this celebration with our very appropriate first hymn, ‘All Things Bright and Beautiful’, if you would please stand…”

The congregation got to their feet to a few soaring organ notes, and then their voices rose up in song. The hymn was printed on the order of service which Thorin held open in his hand and he was quite glad for it, as he could barely remember this traditional hymn from his childhood. He could hear the boys from support group belting it out with their distinct tenors, but Thorin kept his voice quiet as he sang along. That didn’t stop Bilbo, however, from turning to him part-way through the second verse and staring up at him with a look of incredulity. Thorin mouthed ‘Okay?’, only to have Bilbo reply with a scandalised whisper: “I didn’t know you could sing!”. Thorin was blushing quite furiously by the time the hymn ended.

Reverend Puddifoot took to the lectern again to deliver the first part of her christening sermon, and then her place was taken by Kili for a bible reading from _The Gospel of_ _Mark_. His nephew had been almost beside himself with excitement when Prim and Drogo asked him to do a reading at the service. He’d had the verses from the gospel printed onto yellow paper and had been practising reading them all week. Thorin couldn’t have been prouder of him than at that moment when he delivered a clear, faultless reading to the entire congregation, and Kili was grinning from ear to ear as he stepped down from the platform, his reading still in hand.

What followed were two more hymns, another reading, and the conclusion of Reverend Puddifoot’s sermon… and then it was time for Thorin to take to the stage for the service’s main event.

“Now, I would like to ask the parents and godparents to come and join me by the font,” the reverend said, smiling warmly over at the first pew.

Thorin got to his feet, mouth feeling dry and heart pumping, but then Bilbo brushed his hand, looking back at him with such a look of love that it gave him the strength and the confidence to move forward onto the platform where the wooden font and Reverend Puddifoot were waiting for them.

“This is the exciting bit,” the reverend grinned. “And you’ll find your words printed in bold on the order of service.”

Thorin swallowed, looking down at the paper booklet which held a sort of script for the back and forth between the reverend and the parents and godparents, symbolising their pledge to care for Frodo as he was welcomed into the Church. Thorin’s sweaty thumb had smudged one of his lines, but he was sure he could still make it out. He checked that he could see the script in Bilbo’s order of service, just in case.

The exchange started with Prim and Drogo answering the reverend’s questions first, and the couple delivered their lines with perfect synchronicity, their words so undeniably full of love and hope. Frodo seemed to sense the momentousness of the occasion and refrained from even a quiet babbling, his large blue eyes moving between his parents and the reverend with both awe and intrigue.

“And now these questions are addressed to the godparents,” Reverend Puddifoot said, turning to Thorin and Bilbo with an encouraging smile. “Thorin and Bilbo, will you care for this child? Will you set an example for him, and walk with him on this path as he begins the journey of Life?”

Thorin drew in a deep breath and answered with Bilbo: “With God’s help, we will.”

Thorin and Bilbo had talked at length with the reverend about their beliefs, including the significance of the Ganesh statue in their lives. Reverend Puddifoot had listened with interest and they had discussed the promises they were going to make in the service, which were inevitably very much steeped in ideas of God and the Christian faith. Bilbo had insisted he had no problem with making the declarations, but they had still tweaked the promises a little, so they seemed more appropriate to his and Thorin’s experiences.

“Will you comfort him when he is in need? Will you share in both his sorrows and his joys?”

Thorin spoke a little louder this time as they answered: “With God’s help, we will.”

“Will you protect him from harm, and help him to overcome any obstacles placed in his path?”

Thorin and Bilbo exchanged a knowing smile at this amendment as they answered, voices strong and clear: “With God’s help, we will.”

“And now we’re going to officially welcome Frodo into the Church,” Reverend Puddifoot announced, moving around to the other side of the font and holding her arms out for Frodo.

Prim carefully passed him over, ensuring his long gown didn’t trail into the font. Frodo squirmed a little, but he just seemed genuinely excited that he was going to be held by a new addition to his ever-growing fan club.

“Right, well, I’ve never dropped a baby yet, so here’s hoping you don’t break my track-record,” the reverend said, smiling as she shifted Frodo in her arms. She then dipped one hand down into the water of the font, before bringing her thumb back up to Frodo’s forehead, where she made the sign of the cross as she spoke: “Frodo William Baggins, I baptise you in the name of the Father… and of the Son... and of the Holy Spirit… Amen.”

Thorin found himself murmuring an ‘amen’ along with everyone else, and then Frodo was being passed over to Bilbo, who settled him against his chest as his godson whispered ‘Bo’. Thorin couldn’t help but move closer to them,slipping one arm around Bilbo’s back, the other hand moving to stroke Frodo’s cheek. Frodo giggled with a mumble of ‘Four’, before wrapping his hand around Thorin’s finger.

“We have welcomed Frodo into our family,” Reverend Puddifoot said, turning to address the congregation. “And now if you would all join me in prayer.”

Thorin bowed his head along with Bilbo as the reverend led them in a prayer for Frodo, his parents and his godparents. Reverend Puddifoot started the prayer by speaking about new life and new starts, and it made Thorin think about his own, unexpected new beginnings and everything that had arrived with them. He thought about how he knew what it was like to feel as if the world had ended, only to discover it was possible to start over from scratch. How, at thirty-eight, it was as if his life, like Frodo’s, was really only just beginning.

Maybe he didn’t quite believe in God, but Prim was right: he definitely believed in something, and in that moment, he felt that something stirring deep inside, rising up within him, until it was almost as if he were floating. And then a smile spread across his face, spurred on by the thought that everything he had ever wanted was right there with him in that room, which, in the midday sun, was now full to the brim with colour and light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks go to DrBDamned, Nasturtian, and Gaaladrieel for helping me decide on Frodo’s middle name, and thanks also to Morvidra for the onesie prompt and TheHatMeister for the Kirkstall Abbey prompt.
> 
> So, we’ve got a tiny bit of a time-jump now and in the next chapter, it looks like we’ll be celebrating Christmas in August ;)


	56. Chapter 56

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonjour tout le monde! I’m staying with French family at the moment, and so this chapter has been written and posted about fifteen miles from Thorin’s infamous fishing boat with its misleading sign-post. 
> 
> We’re celebrating Christmas in this chapter, and it was a pretty surreal update to write in twenty-five degree heat. I had to make myself a little playlist of Christmas songs to get myself feeling festive, so if you’re someone who likes to have a soundtrack when reading, I heartily recommend you break out the Mariah Carey ;) 
> 
> Alternatively, ‘Oh My Love’ by The Score (not a Christmas song!) has been my personal soundtrack to this chapter since its scenes were first conceived, so I urge you to also give the track a listen. 
> 
> I’ll save all my emotional ramblings for the epilogue, so now let’s crack on with the last chapter…

“I think that’s probably enough snow, Uncle,” Fili said, slapping her striped gloves together to knock the excess snow from them. A flurry of flakes fell from her hands, joining those already drifting from the clouds.

It had been snowing steadily since the early hours of the morning, but as it had been snowing on and off all week, it came as no surprise to Thorin that he’d returned from an overnight stay at Ered Luin to find their garden glistening with a fresh coat of snow. It was a scene straight out of a vintage postcard, and he couldn’t deny that he was secretly quite pleased that this year had graced them with a White Christmas.

“Our snowman looks well buff.” Fili had taken a step back to admire their handiwork, hands on her hips. Standing proudly in her many layers of thermal clothing, she looked like an intrepid explorer who had just reached the South Pole.

“I think we’ve done a pretty good job,” Thorin agreed, reaching up to pull the knitted, bobbled beanie down over his ears that were just starting to feel the chill. “Although he is still a bit of a blank canvas.”

It was true that now uncle and niece were happy with their snowman’s perfectly sculpted torso, it was time to add some finishing touches to the bare body and vacant face.

“Kee’s gone to nick a carrot from the kitchen,” Fili answered. “And he said he was bringing back a hat and scarf from Mum’s emergency accessory box.”

Thorin turned – hopefully quite subtly – to sneak a glance through the kitchen window. Dis had begun working on Christmas dinner about an hour ago and had waved off everyone’s offer of help. With the exception of Balin – who was reading the paper in the living room – they had all been shoved through the back door and into the garden so that they wouldn’t get under her feet. Dis had seen to the turkey and the vegetables, but they were waiting for Bilbo and Radagast to arrive so that they could finish off the trimmings. As it was Bilbo’s first chance to be involved in the cooking of a Christmas dinner for many years, the Oakenshield household had made sure they worked their festive preparations around his escorted leave. Dr. Grey had no objections to Bilbo being placed on Yorkshire pudding and stuffing duty, and with Bilbo’s love of food, Thorin was sure they couldn’t go wrong.

“How’s the branch hunt going, Dwalin?” Fili called, standing on the tips of her boots to peer over their snowman to where Dwalin was inspecting the garden’s oak tree.

Thorin had originally thought his cousin was intending to sift the snow for fallen twigs to provide the perfect arms for their snowy creation… but now it appeared Dwalin would be going right to the source in his search for branches. Before Thorin or Fili could comment, Dwalin ripped a long, thick branch right out of the tree.

“Bloody hell, Dwalin! I know you lot chuck trees at each other as a national sport, but we don’t need a whole tree for our snowman’s arms!”

Dwalin rolled his eyes at Fili’s protests. “Pipe down, young ‘un, this’ll do just fine.”

The Scot then held the branch out and suddenly snapped it in half over his knee with an echoing _crack_! Thorin flinched, recoiling a little at the sound, but Dain was instantly at his side to steady him.

“Shit, Uncle, you okay?” Fili whispered, touching his arm.

Thorin had hoped his wince hadn’t been that noticeable, but still he took a breath and nodded, reaching a gloved hand down to stroke Dain’s ears. _Remember, remember, the fifth of November…_ the rhyme seemed oddly ironic now as memories of Bonfire Night flashed in the forefront of Thorin’s mind. It had been a few days before Prim, Drogo, and Frodo were due to return to New Zealand. Although they had, for Thorin’s sake, erred on the side of caution and not had a bonfire or let off fireworks, they had still eaten treacle toffee and parkin and let Frodo watch Fili and Kili with sparklers in the back garden.

What they couldn’t control, however, were other people’s celebrations. Thorin had coped fairly well at first, but then one prolonged firework display from a house at the end of their street had triggered two consecutive panic attacks. It had been Fili’s idea to give her uncle her large, noise-cancelling headphones and play Queen’s greatest hits from the small, silver iPod she had given him that summer. Fili and Kili had sat with him and Dain in his bedroom as he rode out the panic, with his niece and nephew writing silly messages on pads of paper so their uncle could read them whilst listening to music. That night marked Thorin’s last episode to date, and although both he and Bilbo had suffered a dip in mood after their relatives’ departure, they had both made it through the rest of November and most of December without incident.

“Shite, laddie, I’m sorry – I know I’m a noisy bugger.” Dwalin’s voice dragged Thorin from his brooding with a jolt. The Scot appeared at his side, looking almost comical as he bowed his uncovered head, bearing the broken branch like some kind of remorseful retriever.

“It’s fine, Dwal,” Thorin reassured him, drawing in another slow breath and exhaling, a cloud of frosty mist hanging momentarily between them. “But those branches might actually be too heavy for our snowman.”

Dain seemed to agree and the Labrador tilted his head as he eyed Dwalin’s offerings, before giving a full-body shake to knock the snow from his jacket. He didn’t usually wear the high-vis jacket whilst at home with Thorin, but as Faramir had gifted all the support group’s assistance dogs with festive-themed coats, Thorin figured he’d let Dain join his family in getting into the Christmas spirit.

“We’ll make it work.” Fili accepted one half of the branch from Dwalin and began screwing it into their snowman’s sculpted side to form a noticeably large but suitable arm.

Following Fili’s lead, Dwalin did the same, only he jammed the branch in with a little more force which led to a miniature avalanche beneath the snowman’s ribs. Fili continued to make upset noises until Dwalin had gathered more snow and smoothed over his blunder.

“I’ve got the supplies!”

Kili appeared, as if from nowhere, materialising next to his uncle in the snowy air, holding one knobbly carrot aloft like the Olympic torch.

“Well done, mate,” Thorin grinned. “Did you get by undetected?”

“Yeah, I started talking to Mum about my History homework so she didn’t notice me grab the carrot off the chopping board.”

“Top work, lad,” Dwalin said, affectionately tugging the ear flap of Kili’s woolly hat.

“What about the other goods, Kee?” Fili asked, coming to her brother’s side.

Kili pulled a hat and scarf from the deep pockets of his parka. “Are these okay?”

“They’re awesome,” Fili said, holding up the thick blue scarf. “No idea why Mum would relegate these to the emergency accessory box.”

The box in question lived at the bottom of their coat cupboard in the downstairs hallway. Over the years it had been filled with hats and scarves and gloves, some left by friends, others unwanted Christmas and Birthday presents. The box was a kind of lost and found which people could dip into if, for some reason, they were short on accessories.

“Right, let’s get our boy dressed then.” Fili carefully wrapped the scarf around the snowman’s neck, flattening it down against his wide, white stomach.

Kili’s winter growth spurt as he approached his thirteenth birthday meant he was tall enough to reach up and fit the knitted hat on their snowman’s head. The snow crumbled a little around the hat’s chunky brim, but Kili gently smoothed away the creases with his gloved hand.

“I found some buttons in the box too – we can use these for the eyes.”

“Ah, good thinking, Batman!” Fili said, accepting the buttons from her brother. “Do you want to do the honours with his nose?”

Kili twisted the carrot into the centre of the snowman’s face and Fili added the mismatched black buttons either side of it for his eyes. She then used one finger to draw a smile beneath the carrot. They all moved back to inspect these new additions.

“Well, he does, er, look better than before…?” Thorin murmured, staring at their snowman and wondering what it was about it that seemed so unnerving.

“Yeah… but I think we want him to look a little more ‘Frosty’ and a little less ‘Hey, kids, wanna buy some drugs?’” Fili commented, one eyebrow raised in scrutiny.

Dwalin let out a bark of laughter. “I think it’s his smile… and havin’ one large eye is makin’ him look a bit sinister.”

“I think you may be onto something there,” Fili said, lips pursed in thought, and then she reached out and rubbed away the slightly lopsided sneer, once again using her finger to draw a broader, more appealing smile. “And maybe if we cover the bigger button so it’s the same size as the other one…?” Eyes narrowed in concentration, she started patting a layer of snow around the button, shrinking it until it matched its brother. “Voilà! Goodbye ‘Creepy’, hello ‘Frosty’!”

Thorin, Dwalin, and Kili all smiled in approval at this friendlier snowman. It was then that they heard a few muted knocks coming from the kitchen window. They all turned to see Dis waving them inside and gesturing to her watch. Thorin tugged up the sleeve of his snow-dappled jacket to check the time and his stomach did a little flip: Bilbo would be arriving in less than half an hour.

The group thus trudged back into the kitchen, cold but happy, and Dis abandoned her tray of roast potatoes to fuss over them, helping with the wiping away of snow and removal of boots and wellies. Thorin knocked his hiking boots against the bottom of the door to shake off the snow and then pulled off his black gloves so he could tackle the laces, which looked to be frozen stiff with the cold. Dain gave himself another shake-down and then waited patiently by Thorin’s side.

“You’re all frozen to the bone,” Dis said, tweaking Kili’s reddened nose. “You better go join Balin in the living room and warm yourselves up.”

“You’re sure you don’t want any help in here?” Thorin asked, pulling off his bobbled beanie and shaking it out onto the doormat.

“I’ll be fine, love,” Dis replied, returning to her potatoes. “Everything’s pretty much done now. I’m just waiting for your boyfriend to come and put my culinary skills to shame.”

Thorin scoffed and Fili chipped in with: “It smells amazing in here, Mum!”

Dis smiled as she opened the oven to check on the turkey and a fresh waft of mouth-watering aromas flooded the warm kitchen. There was no denying just how good their impending feast smelled, and Thorin couldn’t help but smile too. This was the first time in seven years that he had been able to spend Christmas with his family, and the scene in the kitchen perfectly encapsulated the cosy joy of the season: there was an enormous turkey sizzling in the oven, glittering tinsel decked across the top of the cupboards, Christmas cards stuck to the fridge with Santa magnets, and the low hum of festive songs drifting from the radio on the window sill. It was yet another moment that made Thorin very happy he had come home this year.

“I promise I’m not playing the martyr,” Dis said quietly, touching her brother’s arm. “There isn’t really much left to do, everything’s in hand here.”

Thorin realised that Dwalin, Fili, and Kili had already made their way through to the living room, and he had been left standing, rather gormlessly, in the kitchen.

“Oh, er, right,” he replied awkwardly, glad the blush the cold had whipped into his cheeks was hiding his embarrassment. “I’ll just… go through then.”

Dis nodded, a knowing glint in her eye. “And make sure Fili and Kili don’t open any of those presents!”

“I’ll try,” Thorin grinned, and then he and Dain headed on into the living room.

Unsurprisingly, he found his niece and nephew kneeling by the red and blue bedecked, ceiling-high Christmas tree that now dominated the room. A large pile of multi-coloured, shimmering presents was clustered around the foot of the tree, and Fili was holding a box covered in silver wrapping paper up to her ear and giving it a gentle shake.

“Well, I don’t think it’s a puppy,” she said, with mock-seriousness.

“You better not have opened any of those.” Thorin took a seat next to Dwalin on the sofa, Dain shuffling in between his knees, and Balin peeked over his paper with a wry smile.

“Nah, we’ve just shook all the ones with our names on,” Kili answered honestly. “And I think Fili might have licked a few of hers.”

“Eww, Kee, I did not!”

Thorin laughed as Fili wrinkled her nose. He did sympathise with both of them, and they’d been incredibly patient when it came to the very tempting pile of presents. Dis had allowed them to open a couple of parcels that morning, but then it had been decided that everyone was to wait to open any more until Bilbo and Radagast arrived for Christmas dinner.

Although he was sure he would’ve liked creeping down the stairs with everyone to discover the sparkling bounty of presents under the tree, it was important to Thorin that Bilbo not wake up alone that Christmas morning, and Dis had more than understood his decision. Thorin had, therefore, spent the night at Ered Luin – which was currently decked out much like their kitchen with tinsel and cards – and he and Bilbo had woken wrapped around each other, cosy and warm in the nest of blankets they had created in the bed. As the rest of the ward stirred, they had exchanged lazy kisses and wished each other groggy ‘Merry Christmases’ as they slowly returned to the waking world.

Later, their breakfast trays had been replaced by a laptop so they could Skype Prim and Drogo in New Zealand. They were treated to the sight of an excitable Frodo dressed in a present from his godfathers: an adorable Christmas pudding onesie, which included a white hat with a sprig of felt holly on the top in the place of a bobble. Frodo didn’t seem at all embarrassed by his new outfit and had greeted Thorin and Bilbo with enthusiasm. Prim revealed that since their trip her son had managed to say ‘Four-in’, but much preferred to stick to ‘Four!’, and thus the epithet was yelled several times – along with ‘Bo!’ – as Frodo pressed his pudgy hands against Drogo’s laptop screen.

“I’m pretty sure this one’s PS4-shaped,” Kili said, holding up the PlayStation Thorin had indeed bought for his nephew that was currently wrapped in glossy blue paper.

“Better not shake it too much then,” Thorin replied, hoping his poker-face was convincing enough. He was quite relieved when Kili returned the box to its spot under the tree: his present-wrapping skills hadn’t advanced much beyond those of Bilbo’s birthday and he didn’t want Kili to accidentally shake his PlayStation out of its wrappings.

Fili and Kili continued to search through the colourful mound of presents, freezing up every so often when they thought they heard their mother coming through from the kitchen. Thorin and Dwalin – and occasionally Balin – would put in suggestions to wind them up, such as ‘no, that’s definitely a dictionary’, ‘a toilet brush if ever I saw one’, and ‘put that collectable bus timetable down!’.

Thorin’s eyes kept flicking to his watch as the time for Bilbo’s arrival drew closer. The giddiness grew the more the minute hand ticked on, and his stomach bubbled with excitement, as if he were a child again waiting for Christmas morning to arrive. Dain noticed him becoming restless, but he reassured the Labrador with a few good scratches behind the ears that he was fine, just brimming with anticipation at the impending arrival of his boyfriend on the doorstep.

Thorin’s gaze had drifted over to the fire and the decorations hanging over the mantelpiece when the sounds of car tyres crunching over snow reached them from the driveway. His heart doing a few rounds of acrobatics, Thorin found himself getting to his feet, as if in a dream, his head a little clouded with the fuzziness of excitement.

“Bilbo’s here! Bilbo’s here! Bilbo’s here!” Kili started up his usual fanfare to signal Bilbo’s arrival.

Each one of Bilbo’s escorted leaves had started the same way, and Thorin couldn’t deny that he quite liked the routine, especially with his nephew whipping everyone into a frenzy so that they were all smiling and practically bouncing with excitement by the time Bilbo made it through the door.

Following this established routine to the letter, Thorin made his way to the door first so that he already had his fingers wrapped around the handle by the time Bilbo’s knocks sounded against the wood. He opened the door to a fairly biting gust of snowy wind and found Bilbo and Radagast, wrapped up in thick coats and hats and scarves, standing huddled together on the step.

“Merry Christmas!” they said in unison, and Thorin moved back, giddy and grinning, to let them in.

“We thought about singing some carols,” Bilbo said, pulling off his striped, knitted hat. “But then decided we’d spare you that particular torment.”

“Very kind of you,” Thorin replied, wrapping an arm around Bilbo’s waist and pulling him in for a quick kiss.

Kili moved around them to help Radagast shrug off his puffy green coat. Since his wife, Iris, died a couple of years ago, the nurse always offered to work the Christmas and New Year’s shifts, preferring to be around people at this more difficult time of year, and so he seemed to be the obvious choice to chaperone Bilbo’s leave – given that Rosie wasn’t working. It had taken quite a bit of wheedling on Bilbo’s part, but it had finally been discovered that Rosie was spending her Christmas with Sam in Bristol. Thus, it was Radagast who had arrived with Bilbo and, as testing as his company sometimes was, Thorin was glad the nurse was joining them for dinner and wasn’t going to be alone on Christmas day.

“Now, I think these need to go under your tree?”

Thorin looked down to see Bilbo holding up two enormous gift bags that were stuffed to overflowing with impeccably wrapped red and gold presents.

“Bilbo…” he said, taking one bag and frowning at its hefty weight.

“What?” Bilbo asked, feigning innocence.

Thorin’s tone was stern as he replied: “We talked about this.”

“Oh, Thorin Oakenshield, it is my money and I shall spend it however I damn well please!” Bilbo replied curtly.

Thorin opened his mouth, but his retort was cut off by: “Look me in the eye and tell me that you haven’t spoiled us all rotten with your presents!”

Thorin was left with his mouth blubbing open and closed like a fish, knowing he had no reply to that.

“Exactly,” Bilbo said, looking sufficiently smug.

“Ohhh, Uncle, you just got owwwned,” Fili said, in a sing-song voice, sticking her head out from the living room.

“Okay, no fighting, it’s Christmas!” Dis had appeared from the kitchen, a tea towel slung over her shoulder. She came down the hallway to greet them, squeezing Bilbo’s shoulder and kissing his cheek. “Merry Christmas, Bilbo, we’re so glad you and Radagast could join us for dinner.” She and Radagast exchanged wide smiles.

“So am I,” Bilbo replied. “And I believe you need some help in the Yorkshire pudding department?”

“We do indeed. Everything’s already set up for you in the kitchen.”

Bilbo nodded. “I’ll just go and say a quick hello to everyone first.”

Kili carried off Bilbo and Radagast’s coats and hats and scarves, and Bilbo moved down the hallway, taking Thorin’s hand and rubbing his thumb over his fingers to show that they were done fighting. They received a warm welcome as they entered the living room. Fili pulled Bilbo into a crushing hug and then took the bags of presents from him and Thorin. It was with manic rustling and excited whispers that she and Kili added the offering to the ever-expanding pile. Dwalin engaged Bilbo in a fairly awkward handshake, but his rumbled words of season’s greetings were sincere.

“Ah, it’s the future Dr. Baggins!” Balin said, rising from his armchair and giving Bilbo a congratulatory slap on the back.

Bilbo looked almost shy as he replied: “Well, I certainly hope we’ll get there eventually.”

“I don’t doubt it for one moment, laddie,” Balin said quietly. “Did you get my letter?”

“Oh, yes, yes… It was beautifully put, everything you said… Thank you.”

Bilbo and Balin exchanged a knowing smile, a twinkle of kindred academics. Bilbo’s mood had suffered after the departure of his cousins, but this had all changed the moment he received word that his PhD proposal had been accepted by the School of History at Leeds University. He had been enrolled in a part-time study programme, due to start not long after the New Year, and Thorin couldn’t be prouder of him.

“Shall we head to the kitchen?” Bilbo asked, turning back to Thorin and twining their fingers together again.

Thorin nodded and so they returned to the hallway, following the beckoning fingers of sumptuous smells to the kitchen. Dis was waiting for them by the table, which was set up with everything Bilbo would need to make the Yorkshire pudding and stuffing for their Christmas dinner. Radagast shadowed their movements, but didn’t intrude, simply moving to the corner of the kitchen with a cheery smile. It was then that Thorin noticed the nurse was wearing a rather vibrant Christmas jumper over the top of his brown scrubs. It featured a large, goofy reindeer with a red pom-pom for a nose. How he’d missed Radagast’s latest interesting bit of fashion was beyond him. Bilbo’s Christmas jumper was fairly toned down in comparison: it was a deep burgundy with a traditional white snowflake pattern.

“So, what’s your assigned duty then?” Bilbo asked, grinning up at Thorin as they moved to the table.

“He’s on sausage duty,” Dis put in, presenting Thorin with a tray of pale, uncooked sausages. “You’re going to fork them and wrap them in bacon.”

“Fork them?” Thorin asked, smirking.

Dis rolled her eyes and presented him with a fork. “And make sure you wrap the bacon tightly.”

“Nothing worse than loose bacon,” Bilbo agreed, pulling a plastic mixing bowl towards him and Thorin chuckled.

Sensing the two of them were about to become insufferable, Dis turned back to the oven. Bilbo now seemed intent on his task and had retrieved the flour and weighing scales, making his usual humming sounds associated with good food, although the hums did have a distinctly festive melody. Thorin tried to focus on his own task of forking the sausages, but he couldn’t help but keep sneaking glances at Bilbo whilst he worked. He moved with assurance and grace, switching from bowl to weighing scales, from ingredient to ingredient, with the confidence of a professional chef. He also appeared to be fully content, almost glowing, as he went through the motions. He was a natural cuisinier, no doubt about it. Thorin made a mental note to ask Dr. Grey if they could do some proper baking the next time Bilbo came to visit.

Having finished cracking eggs into the well of flour he’d made in his bowl, Bilbo added a little milk, some salt and pepper, and then began to whisk, tilting the bowl onto its side.

“I can’t believe we’re letting a southerner make the Yorkshire puddings,” Thorin said, grinning over at Bilbo as he finished wrapping bacon around a sausage.

Dis turned round from the sink with a wry smile. “Yes, quite a traitorous act on our part.”

“I’m very glad you’ve given me the honour,” Bilbo replied, unperturbed by the teasing. “And you shan’t be disappointed.”

“You sound quite sure of yourself,” Thorin said, nudging his hip against Bilbo’s.

Bilbo continued to whisk the Yorkshire pudding mixture with finesse. “Well, darling, you should know not to underestimate my wrist action.”

Dis burst into cackling laughter and Thorin almost choked, lifting a hand to his mouth to avoid spluttering all over the sausages. Colour instantly flooded his cheeks as he tried to look anywhere but over at Bilbo, who was still whisking away.

“Sorry, Dis,” Bilbo said sincerely. “I didn’t mean to be so crude.”

“Bilbo, love, I work with teenage boys day in, day out: I can assure you I’ve heard far worse.”

Bilbo grinned at that. “Point taken… And congratulations again on the deputy headship. Thorin tells me you start in January?”

“Yes, although I have already got myself settled in my new office. I get a plaque with my name on and everything… and personalised stationery!”

Whilst his sister and his boyfriend continued to grin at each other, Thorin kept his gaze on the sausages, focusing on blanketing the last one with two pieces of streaky bacon. It was then that he felt Bilbo bump their hips together again. He looked up to see the younger man smiling at him as he tapped his whisk against the side of the mixing bowl. Despite the lingering heat in his cheeks, he smiled back, showing Bilbo he was forgiven.

The pair of them worked steadily at the table, with Bilbo carefully filling a Yorkshire pudding tin with his batter, before turning his attentions to the stuffing. Thorin’s sausages were scrutinised by Dis and, once they passed her inspection, were placed in the oven along with the turkey and potatoes. He was then assigned gravy duty. When all necessary food preparations had been made, they helped Dis and Radagast lay the table with knives and forks and snowman-patterned napkins.

“Now, we’ve got about twenty minutes before everything’s ready to come out,” Dis said, hanging her tea towel over a drawer handle. “So shall we go and sit in the living room for a little while?”

Bilbo exchanged a look with Radagast, and Thorin’s stomach clenched a little. He had noticed Bilbo growing more fidgety as their cooking drew to a close… and he wasn’t sure what was causing his anxiety.

“That sounds like a good idea,” Bilbo said softly. “And Dis… if it’s alright with everybody, I’d quite like to give Thorin one of his presents before we all sit down to dinner.”

Dis seemed about ready to make a witty remark, but then, sensing the weight and solemnity radiating from Bilbo, promptly changed tact and answered: “Of course.”

Thorin came to Bilbo’s side as they moved into the hallway and took his hand. He couldn’t help but raise a questioning eyebrow, wondering what was so special about this particular present.

“It didn’t cost anything, so you’re not allowed to moan,” Bilbo said, tone lighter as he ignored the obvious query etched across Thorin’s face.

They received a warm greeting as they re-entered the living room. Kili froze in his inspection of one of Bilbo’s red and gold presents and quickly returned it to its spot under the tree.

“It’s the cast of ‘Ready, Steady, Cook’,” Fili said, sitting cross-legged by the tree. Bright blue eyes moved to her uncle. “Burn anything important?”

“They did a sterling job,” Dis said, coming to perch on the sofa arm by Dwalin.

“Are we about ready to eat then?” Balin asked, clapping his hands together.

Dis looked over to Bilbo and Thorin, and Thorin felt Bilbo tense at his side.

“Actually, I’d just like to kick off the, er, present exchange first,” Bilbo said, straightening up and turning to Thorin with an almost bashful smile, which only multiplied the number of questions buzzing around his mind.

Dwalin and Balin leaned forward in their seats, eyeing Bilbo with obvious intrigue as he took Thorin’s hands and led him to the tree. Fili and Kili shuffled away so their uncles had room to kneel down by the presents. Dain tucked himself into Thorin’s side.

“Kili, did you see a gold envelope in your present digging? It’s tied with red ribbon,” Bilbo said, clearly aware that his nephew had conducted a thorough inspection of the latest additions to the present pile.

Kili shifted a little guiltily towards the presents, but still managed to retrieve the golden envelope after minimal searching. He held it out towards Bilbo, who took it in both hands, before turning to Fili.

“I think this is another moment I’d like recorded for posterity, Fili, if you’d be so kind?”

“Oh, er, okay, sure!” Fili said, gaze flicking to Thorin as she slipped her phone from her pocket. She tapped through to the video screen and held her phone up, pointing it in Thorin and Bilbo’s direction. “Ready and rolling!”

Bilbo’s eyes met Thorin’s and the green was already shimmering at the corners. Thorin’s heart started thumping against his ribs, his stomach knotting itself in almost fearful anticipation.

“Merry Christmas,” Bilbo said quietly, holding the golden envelope out to Thorin.

“Thank you,” he murmured, taking it into his hands with care, as if it really were made of gold.

The whole room fell into silence as Thorin slowly pulled one strand of red ribbon, untangling the knot from the centre of the envelope. He then flipped it over, using one finger to slice open the flap. There was a wad of folded white paper inside and he gently eased it from the envelope. Everyone leaned forward, eager to see the gift, and Thorin was sure he could even feel Kili’s excited breaths against his neck as his questioning eyes moved back to Bilbo, who only smiled, a nod urging him to read.

Holding the wad out in front of him, Thorin opened it up to reveal some kind of official document. There was the blue NHS logo in the corner, along with the address for the Ered Luin Royal Infirmary… and then Thorin’s eyes fell on the large, bold script near the top of the page:

**DISCHARGE PLANNING**

A breath got lodged in Thorin’s throat as he read and re-read the words, his heart hammering in his ears, and then his eyes jumped all over the page, trying to take in every single, beautiful word. _Unescorted leave… Outpatient services… Supported accommodation… Provisional Date of Discharge: February 9 th 2015\. _

The documents were shaking in his hands as Thorin finally looked up, vision blurring as his gaze locked on Bilbo. His heart felt like it was about to burst right out of his chest as he whispered: “Y-you’re being discharged?”

Bilbo nodded, reaching up to wipe his eyes. “I’ve known for two weeks. Gandalf and I had a very long discussion, and we’ve agreed that I’m ready.”

“You’re being discharged?” Thorin said again, voice higher than usual and full of wonder as his hands continued to shake.

Bilbo let out a laugh and his whole face seemed to be glowing. “Yes! I’m being discharged!”

The room erupted with cheers and whoops and excited chatter, but Thorin didn’t hear any of it. Dropping the envelope, he lurched forward and pulled Bilbo into his arms. Feeling his whole body shaking, Thorin buried his face in the crook of Bilbo’s neck as the tears came. Bilbo slid his arms around Thorin’s waist, rubbing his back and making soothing sounds, turning his head so he could kiss his dark hair.

“Do you have any idea how difficult it was, keeping this from you?” he whispered, with a teary laugh. “Every time you visited I was just so desperate to tell you!”

Thorin only held Bilbo tighter, his heart and his stomach doing a synchronised routine of flips, and he felt light-headed with the sheer bliss of this wonderful, wonderful moment. _Bilbo’s being discharged… Bilbo’s being discharged…_ He said the sentence over and over again in his head, trying to dispel his disbelief, telling himself this was real, that this was all really happening.

“I-I’m so proud of you,” he said, voice catching as he spoke into Bilbo’s neck.

Bilbo drew in a shuddering breath as he slowly pulled Thorin from him so their watery eyes could meet. He rubbed his thumbs over Thorin’s shoulders and murmured: “Couldn’t have got here without you, though.”

Thorin mirrored Bilbo’s knowing smile and then leaned down to press their mouths together. A few more whoops – and some _awwws_! – sounded in the background as they shared a gentle but fervent kiss, wet eyelashes fluttering closed as they melted into one another. It seemed a long time before either of them drew away, but then they were resting their foreheads together as Thorin’s hands came up to cup Bilbo’s cheeks. And then they could do nothing but grin at each other and laugh.

“Okay, can I stop filming now? I don’t think my phone’s waterproof…”

Thorin and Bilbo turned to see Fili kneeling in front of them, phone still pointed in their direction as she used the heel of one hand to wipe her eyes.

“Of course, Fili,” Bilbo said, smiling. “I think we’ve more than captured the moment.”

Fili stopped the recording and returned her phone to her pocket. “Okay, Uncle, stop hogging Bilbo and let me have a cuddle.”

Thorin didn’t particularly want to let go of Bilbo any time in the near future, but the look of absolute elation on his niece’s face was enough to let Bilbo slip from his arms. He dragged Fili into a crushing hug and they shared a few quiet words. By the time they broke apart, Kili had already shuffled over to Bilbo’s side.

“I’m really, really, really glad you’re feeling better, Uncle Bilbo!” he said earnestly.

Bilbo opened an arm to pull Kili into his chest and then murmured into his mop of dark hair: “So am I, Kili, so am I.”

There wasn’t a dry eye in the room as everyone had their turn congratulating Bilbo, and then Dis announced that it was time to move to the table. Thorin felt as if he was walking two feet above the floor as he followed everyone through to the kitchen, and the triumphant mantra kept going round and round in his head: _Bilbo’s being discharged… Bilbo’s being discharged!_

The kitchen table was a little crowded with eight of them sitting around it, but still there was enough space for their plates and cutlery and the mountain of delicious food laid out down the middle. They had vetoed crackers on account of the noise, but still managed to get hold of the traditional paper crowns and everyone quickly set about fixing their own onto their heads. Thorin fumbled a little with his red crown, but Bilbo reached over and adjusted it for him with a fond smile.

Food was thus piled onto plates, with Bilbo’s Yorkshire puddings – and Thorin’s sausages – receiving many compliments. Everyone passed the dishes of steaming vegetables around the table, with Dwalin almost sending a roast potato flying across the kitchen as he stabbed at it with his fork. Dis was in charge of carving the turkey, which she did with an almost terrifying prowess, and soon there was a lull in conversation as they all tucked into their Christmas feast.

It was when people were just about finished with their second helpings and scraping gravy up off their plates that Fili tapped her fork against her wine glass, the tingling sound bringing a surprised and rather confused silence to the table.

Having gained everyone’s attention, Fili rose to her feet, chair scraping across the kitchen floor, wine glass still in hand. “Okay, so I know this is all a bit wedding-y… but I’d just like to say a few words…”

“How much have you had, lass?” Dwalin asked, one bushy eyebrow raised.

“Not nearly enough, Dwalin,” Fili quipped back, earning a few laughs.

Fili did appear to be ever-so-slightly tipsy, and Thorin wasn’t sure how many glasses of wine his niece had got through during their meal. Dr. Grey had recently released Thorin from his state of prohibition so that he was allowed the occasional beer or glass of red, but as Bilbo couldn’t drink, Thorin had, in a show of solidarity, opted for orange juice that evening.

“Go on, Fili,” Bilbo said kindly, although he was already looking a little bashful.

Fili tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear and cleared her throat with a flourish. “First of all, I just want to say how awesome it is that we’re able to celebrate Christmas today with my two amazing uncles, Thorin and Bilbo.”

There was a murmur of agreement as Fili held her glass out to them and, although he managed a smile, Thorin still felt colour rushing into his cheeks.

“I hope you know I’m still taking like forty-percent of the credit for you guys getting together,” she continued, with a lopsided grin, and there were a few more chuckles. But then the grin faded and Fili’s tone grew more serious, her blue gaze becoming cloudy. “But I don’t think I’ve really told either of you just how much you mean to this family… and to me.”

Her eyes slowly moved to Thorin and he felt his chest tighten with the emotion stirring there.

“Uncle, we all know being a teenager warrants a certain amount of angst and earlier this year, I had some low points… some days were totally miserable, but knowing I was going to get to come visit you after school was what got me through double History with Mr. Greenwood.”

Thorin smiled at that, lowering his head as he felt his eyes begin to prickle. He didn’t want to interrupt Fili’s speech, but he made a mental note to have a quiet word with her later and tell her just how much her visits had meant to him, and how they often got him through the day during those first few months in Ered Luin.

“And Bilbo…” Fili’s shining eyes moved from Thorin to Bilbo. “Without all your support with my personal statement and my uni application, I wouldn’t have got into Birmingham… When I was feeling crap because Greenwood had bulldozed yet another essay, you sat and went through it with me and leant me your books… and I really can’t thank you enough for helping me this year.”

Bilbo opened his mouth as if to reply, but when he seemed unable to find the words, he shut it again, simply opting for a smile instead. Thorin slid his hand over Bilbo’s beneath the table and twined their fingers together.

“You’ve both been through so much and you’ve both come so far,” Fili said, her voice cracking as she reached up to wipe the corner of her eye with a thumb. “Y-you’re the bravest people I’ve ever met… and I… I just want both of you to know that you’re my heroes…” Fili’s lips trembled despite her smile. “… And y-you so, _so_ deserve this happiness.”

There were a few more noises of approval and then Balin chipped in with a quiet: “Here, here.”

Fili took another moment to compose herself and if she swayed a little, everyone pretended not to notice.

“Okay, okay… So, I’m almost done, promise,” she said, straightening up and clearing her throat again. “We’re gathered here as a family, and our family has, admittedly, been through some shit in our time... but, in the words of a very wise philosopher, Stitch from _Lilo and Stitch_ … Our family is little, and broken, but still good.”

“And I know I speak for everyone when I say we’re all really happy Bilbo is now part of our little family… that he’s here celebrating Christmas with us… and it appears we’re also celebrating his impending discharge from hospital… and I think that, more than anything, deserves a cheers!”

Fili held her wine glass aloft and everyone else did the same, a chorus of ‘Cheers!’ rising up from the table. Thorin clinked his glass against Bilbo’s as their niece staggered with surprising grace back into her seat. He then leaned over to press a soft kiss to Bilbo’s temple, hoping the action communicated that he agreed with all of Fili’s sentiments and more.

 

The next hour found Thorin and Bilbo curled up together on Thorin’s bed, nursing their full bellies as the sun slowly began to set on Christmas Day. Radagast had managed to wangle them half an hour of ‘alone time’, and the nurse had actually offered to stay downstairs in the living room, saying he trusted them both not to get up to any mischief. They had been warned, however, that he would be up to collect them once their half hour was up as it would then be time for him and Bilbo to return to the hospital.

“Do you know whereabouts your supported housing is going to be?” Thorin asked softly, running a finger over Bilbo’s arm.

Bilbo shifted against his chest, moving his head to the side so he could talk without his words being muffled by Thorin’s jumper. “It’s in the city centre, within walking distance of Ered Luin… And also in easy reach of the buses, so I’ll be able to commute here no problem.”

Thorin nodded, resting his chin on Bilbo’s curls. He and Bilbo had only had a few discussions about his discharge before today: he knew the topic made Bilbo anxious, especially when being discharged from the hospital had seemed like such a distant and unachievable goal, but when they had spoken about it, Bilbo had explained that he’d rather live independently than with Thorin in Chapel Allerton. At first, Thorin had been disappointed, but once Bilbo explained his reasons, he completely understood why, after almost four years under hospital care, Bilbo would want to take this next step on his own.

“But… you don’t mind coming to stay with me? For the first couple of weeks at least?” Bilbo lifted his head from Thorin’s chest so he could see his face.

“Of course not.” Thorin’s tone was warm and reassuring as he pulled Bilbo closer to him. “I really want to be there.”

Bilbo nodded, seeming relieved. “Gandalf’s secured me a ground-floor flat apparently, so I’ll have a terrace where I can do some gardening.”

“You’ll be able to plant some of Sam’s seeds,” Thorin said quietly, thinking of the packets the gardener had sent with his letters.

Bilbo smiled. “So I will.”

“What does it, er, actually mean then…? ‘Supported housing’?”

“Oh, it just means it’s warden-controlled. There’ll be a member of staff on site twenty-four-seven, a red cord in the bathroom, that kind of thing.”

“Okay,” Thorin said, unable to deny that he did feel better knowing there would always be someone on hand to help if he wasn’t there. “But I’m glad you want me to stay for the first couple of weeks.”

“You can stay for as long as you want, you know,” Bilbo replied, nosing into Thorin’s neck. “I’m not going to kick you out.”

“Well, they say it either makes or breaks a relationship, living together… Do we want to risk it?”

“But we’ve already lived together for four months,” came Bilbo’s answer. “So I think we’ll do alright.”

Thorin smiled at that, his mind drifting back to his days on the ward, when just the thought of Bilbo made his heart stutter. Bilbo seemed to be lost in thought too, and he startled slightly when Thorin’s fingers brushed his shoulder.

“Okay?” Thorin murmured.

“Yes… I suppose I was just thinking, about your arrival on the ward…” Bilbo said, his tone pensive. “You know, when you were admitted there were two available long-stay rooms: the one you ended up in and one on the far side of the ward… I was just wondering what I would’ve done if Gandalf hadn’t put you in the one next to mine.”

Thorin leaned down to rest his forehead against Bilbo’s. “I would’ve found you anyway,” he whispered.

Bilbo returned a soft smile, thumb reaching up to stroke Thorin’s bearded cheek. “I think you might be right about that,” he said, eyes crinkling at the corners. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Thorin nudged their noses together. “Now, we’ve got about fifteen minutes until Radagast bursts in, so how much snogging do you think we can get in until then?”

Bilbo laughed. “I’m not sure, but I’m willing to find out.”

With that, Thorin drew their lips together. He didn’t protest as Bilbo gently rolled him onto his back and crawled on top of him, pressing his knees into the bed either side of Thorin’s hips. His fingertips traced Thorin’s jaw and Thorin’s hands settled over his back, pulling him closer and deepening their kiss.

And in the distance the soft chime of church bells could be heard as the sun slipped below the horizon and, behind the bronze statue of Ganesh, snowflakes fluttered by and clung together in the corners of the windowpanes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look! Look! It’s finally happened! Bilbo’s getting discharged! *confetti and glitter drops from the ceiling*
> 
> Now, to avoid the author’s notes on the epilogue becoming humungous, I just thought I’d make a little announcement here. Some of you may know from my replies to your comments that there will be an ‘Obstacles’ sequel. It’s going to be called ‘Dust in the Road’ and rather than follow a linear narrative, each chapter will be a one-shot looking at Thorin and Bilbo’s life together after the end of this fic. It may also include a few throwback chapters, such as the ‘Eurovision’ one-shot I promised a few people I’d write. 
> 
> ‘Dust in the Road’ is, essentially, my own coping mechanism for the end of this fic, as I’m not sure I’d ever be able to finish it if I thought I was never going to return to this ‘verse. So in the comments section for the epilogue I’ll be taking prompts from readers for any scenes they’d like to see from the ‘Obstacles’ timeline. I can’t promise to write them all, but I will do my best! 
> 
> As for writing projects beyond ‘Obstacles’, I’m also wanting to dabble in a few Bagginshield cross-overs with my childhood fandoms, Star Wars and Star Trek, so do also look out for those in the future. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed this festive chapter, and I’ll get that epilogue to you ASAP.


	57. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Well, here we are: the final update! 
> 
> There is a very long, emotional awards ceremony-style speech in the end notes for this chapter, so for now I suggest you pop on ‘The Shire Theme’ and join Thorin and Bilbo for the conclusion of the first part of their journey together.

_Coat._

_I… should take a coat._

_But I… I can’t find a coat… Did I have a coat? Did Dis bring me a coat?_

_Maybe she didn’t bring me a coat… I’m not supposed to need one… I’m not supposed to be going outside right now…_

Thorin wrenched open the bottom drawer of the dresser, wincing at the scrape the wood made against the metal drawer slide: the sound made him feel sick to his already knotted stomach and sent another phantom pain shooting across the left side of his head. Thorin closed his eyes against the burning at his temple.

_No. It’s not real…_

_The bullet’s long gone… It’s going rusty in the dust, a continent away from here…_

_From this Godforsaken place._

Giving up the futile search for a coat, Thorin left the bottom drawer open and staggered up, almost falling back against the bed. He flinched away from the sweaty, off-white mound of soiled sheets. He’d woken with them twisted around his legs, felt the damp heat crawling all over his skin, and that had been more than enough to send him scrambling from the bed.

He had grabbed his rucksack from behind one of the chairs and started throwing clothes into it. There was not much else to pack. He had nothing else left. He just knew he needed to get out of here, away from those hideous bedsheets, from the strange smells and the constant noise, from the crying and the telephone rings and the haunted shuffle of footsteps.

Thorin dragged the zip of the rucksack shut and slung it over his shoulder, cursing under his breath as the movement made him wobble. His hand shot out to grab the side of the bed. The drugs were supposed to be making him better, but so far they had just made him drowsy and nauseous and forgetful and unable to form a complete thought. Right now, he painted a pretty pathetic picture. And that was why he had to leave. He didn’t really have a plan for once he was outside the hospital, (his sluggish brain was incapable of letting him think that far ahead), but he was going to go somewhere far away, with no noise and clean sheets, with no one there to stare at him and tell him everything was going to be alright.

Steadying himself, Thorin’s eyes slowly turned to the doorway. There was no one standing at the dimly lit nurses’ station. The coast was clear and he just had to figure out which door to disappear through. Moving forward, he tried not to think about how heavy the shoes felt on his feet, how his bare arms were already feeling a prickling chill because he didn’t have a coat, how his chest was growing tighter by the second and that usually meant he was about to be doubled-over on the floor gasping for breath.

It was with great mental effort that Thorin managed to push these crippling thoughts away and keep putting one foot in front of the other until he finally found himself out on the ward. And there were doors everywhere. Eyes frantically darting about the space, Thorin let out a shaky breath, wishing his lungs didn’t feel as if they were being used as a set of punching bags. The nurses’ office door was slightly ajar to his right, so he figured, if he wanted to slip past undetected, he should go left. It was at a painfully slow pace that he turned and began to edge around the nurses’ station.

“What are you doing?”

Thorin immediately froze, heart hammering against his ribs. He stayed completely still for one long minute, before slowly turning to find the man from the room next to his standing in his doorway, one eyebrow slightly arched as he appraised Thorin with an indecipherable expression.

It took Thorin a moment to register that a question had been asked. The words were processed with plodding speed and it took even longer for Thorin to actually formulate a response, but the man didn’t press him, simply waited patiently until he got his answer, given in no more than a whisper: “I’m discharging myself.”

“No, you’re doing a runner, and I think we both know that’s not a very good idea.”

The reply took Thorin by surprise and seen as he could barely string a sentence together, he thought it best not to even attempt to come to his own defence. Instead he stayed standing by the nurses’ station, rucksack hanging from his shoulder, gawping rather unattractively at this unexpected stranger who looked fairly wide awake for three in the morning. The stranger was wearing tartan pyjama bottoms and a grey hoodie, and Thorin found his eyes drawn to the unfamiliar red and blue crest that was embroidered on its left side… it didn’t appear to be a military insignia.

Thorin realised he must have been staring for far longer than was socially acceptable when he lifted his gaze to meet the stranger’s and he returned an almost bashful smile. Thorin felt his stomach clench. No one had smiled at him like that since the bullet. All other smiles had been strained, part of a routine, painted on to try and gain cooperation, to make their own jobs easier. But not this smile: this smile was genuine and bright, and it even reached the man’s eyes, which seemed to be caught somewhere between grey and green. What’s more, the man seemed to emit a kind of strange magnetism and Thorin found himself slowly turning his whole body towards him, all thoughts of escape slowly circling away like water down a drain.

The stranger’s accent was soft and southern: the accent of commanding officers. He must have been a good couple of years younger than Thorin, but he could still be a higher-ranking officer. Trying his best to straighten up, Thorin decided he should make formal introductions. He knew the hospital didn’t like to retain a hierarchy amongst its patients, and no one had addressed him as ‘Captain Oakenshield’ since he arrived, but this wasn’t the world Thorin was born into. He wasn’t one to offend an officer, even if it was the middle of the night and aforementioned officer was standing there in pyjamas and bare feet. And so, Thorin was determined to be mannerly and decorous… but unfortunately this message was not properly relayed and instead he said, quite bluntly: “I don’t know your name.”

The stranger, however, didn’t seem offended: in fact he appeared to be more amused than anything else. “Bilbo,” he said softly. “Bilbo Baggins.”

 _Bilbo Baggins_. Thorin said the name in his head. He seemed to be forgetting almost everything at the moment, but for some reason, he felt that this was something he really didn’t want to forget. Maybe if he said it silently to himself enough times this was the one thing that would stick.

Bilbo Baggins didn’t seem to have any more to say, but he was watching Thorin with the same patient look, making him realise that it was customary when someone tells you their name to also tell them yours.

“Th-Thorin… Thorin Oakenshield,” Thorin replied, his throat feeling raw and dry, although he was relieved that his lungs still seemed to be in working order.

“It’s nice to meet you, Thorin,” Bilbo said, and he smiled again, which made Thorin’s stomach lurch… but not in the same way the drugs did. Thorin was astounded to discover that this feeling was almost pleasant.

Bilbo was silent again and Thorin attempted to suck in a deeper breath. This was probably the longest conversation he had had that month. People had spoken with him, of course, well, spoken _at_ him… and Thorin had very rarely replied, whether that was out of resentment, or having nothing to say, or simply being unable to respond. But this exchange, as stilted and brief as it had been so far, was still the most communicative he had been in a long time.

Thorin had meant to try and express this idea in a comprehensive way, but with his brain-to-mouth filter completely disabled by drugs and injury, another thought squeezed past and got there first, and what came out was: “Are you an officer?”

There was a strange flicker in those bright eyes that made Thorin instantly regret the question, but then Bilbo answered: “Yes, in the Intelligence Corps.”

 _Oh_. Thorin had a lot of respect for the Intelligence Corps: something which had been bred into him since he first started training. Their soldiers were razor sharp with nerves of steel.

“You… You must be clever then,” he said, shocking himself so much with his quick response that he almost staggered to the side.

“Well, I don’t know about that,” Bilbo said, with a laugh which seemed to light up his entire face.

He was smiling again and it was infectious, as if the smile’s incandescent power was snaking out across the distance between them, beginning to lightly tug on the corners of Thorin’s mouth. But then Bilbo’s eyes slid over Thorin’s shoulder to something beyond the nurses’ station.

Thorin’s whole body grew rigid as he turned to follow Bilbo’s gaze. A nurse in blue scrubs with curly red hair was approaching and Thorin unconsciously took a step back, arms tightening around himself, praying that she wouldn’t touch him. He felt a breath get lodged in his throat and suddenly he was feeling sick again. He shuffled away, this time closer to Bilbo’s door, as if silently begging for protection.

“It’s alright,” Bilbo said gently. “Rosie’s one of the good ones.”

“High praise indeed, Bilbo,” Rosie said, flashing him a grin. She stopped just by the nurses’ station, leaving plenty of space between her and Thorin, and made no move to touch him.

“You okay, Thorin?” she asked, tone calm and without accusation, despite the quick glance at the rucksack over his shoulder.

Thorin opened his mouth to reply, but, unsurprisingly, no words came. The heat of embarrassment slowly began to flood his cheeks and he sneaked a look at Bilbo, hoping he didn’t seem too pitiful in asking for a little help.

“We’ve just been having a lovely chat,” Bilbo explained. “We got as far as name and rank, but didn’t quite get onto the weather.”

“Hmm, well, it’s blowing a gale outside right now, so you wouldn’t want to get caught in it,” Rosie replied, and although the implication of her words was clear, her expression was still kind as she looked to Thorin.  

Thorin shifted the rucksack on his back, looking down at his feet in an obvious display of guilt. He felt a shiver up his arms. “I… I couldn’t find my coat.”

“Oh, I’m not sure if your sister brought one,” Rosie said, brow furrowed. “I’ll make a note so we remember to ask her when she visits tomorrow.”

“Okay.” Thorin looked down at his feet again and hunched his posture further. He was sure a reprimand for trying to sneak out in the middle of the night was coming and so he braced himself for a lecture.

He was, therefore, rather surprised when all Rosie said was: “Thorin, I can tell you, as someone who’s made a few unwise decisions at three in the morning, that it’s probably better to wait until tomorrow and daylight before you start packing a bag.”

The nurse delivered the line with humour in her eyes, making Bilbo chuckle, and despite his lingering embarrassment, Thorin did appreciate her attempt at diffusing the situation. It helped him draw in a slow breath.

“So how about we go unpack and get you back to bed?” Rosie prompted, using one hand to indicate Thorin’s room, but still being careful not to close the distance between them.

Thorin glanced behind, cringing as he thought of the soiled tangle of bedsheets, and then his eyes slowly moved to Bilbo. He had only known him for a few minutes, but suddenly he found himself rather reluctant to return to his own room and leave Bilbo standing there in the doorway.

“Thorin,” Bilbo said softly, clearly sensing his hesitance. “I’m sure you must be tired and the first few days here are always pretty rough… You’ll feel better after some more rest.”

Bilbo was right: he was tired. So tired he was feeling an ache in his fingernails and the soles of his feet. But more than that, he couldn’t deny the niggling thought in the back of his mind that if he stayed, he might get to talk to Bilbo again… and that was enough to ease a little of the tightness in his stomach and to make him turn back towards his own doorway.

“Okay, let’s get you settled,” Rosie said, smiling as she carefully moved forward.

“Goodnight, Thorin,” Bilbo murmured, a glint in his grey-green eyes.

Thorin swallowed, fingers flexing around the shoulder-strap of his rucksack. _“Goodnight, Bilbo…”_

 

Thorin jolted awake, feeling as if the ward’s cold linoleum floor had been whipped from under him. Squinting his eyes against the pale morning light, his gaze slowly moved around the room, taking in the bare shelves, stripped of their kaleidoscopic congregation of books, and all the empty space, dominated only by one remaining cardboard box that sat on the low coffee table by the window.

Closing his eyes again, Thorin breathed slowly, becoming aware of the warm weight of a hand making soothing movements across his chest. He lay quietly for a moment before sneaking a glance at Bilbo, who was lying on his side in the bed next to him.

“You were dreaming,” Bilbo said gently, hand stilling just below his collar bone, thumb rubbing at the fabric of his pyjama top.

Thorin let out an affirmative hum, scratching at his beard, his fingertips moving up to skim over his scar. Bilbo’s next question was clear in his expression, but his silence let Thorin know he was allowed not to answer it.

“I dreamt about the night we first met,” he said, looking over at Bilbo’s doorway where he had stood, almost a year ago now, in an inside-out t-shirt with a hastily packed bag over his shoulder. “I was a mess.”

“A very cute mess,” Bilbo whispered, shuffling closer to kiss the side of Thorin’s mouth.

Thorin turned into the kiss, pressing his lips against Bilbo’s, one finger reaching up and running over his jaw. When they pulled away, Bilbo smiled, and Thorin couldn’t help but be reminded of his dream.

“You smiled at me like no one else did,” he said quietly. “It made me want to stay.”

“And I’m very glad about that,” Bilbo replied, kissing his nose and smiling all the more.

They were quiet for a few moments and Thorin’s gaze once again returned to Bilbo’s doorway. That night seemed so very long ago, and it was quite surreal that he was now, ten months down the line, cuddled up in bed with that smiling, sympathetic stranger he had met during a rather ill-advised escape attempt.

Said stranger then moved closer to him in the bed, resting his head against his chest and Thorin shifted so he could wrap an arm around his back. “Happy Discharge Day,” he murmured into his curls.

“Is that what we’re calling it?” Bilbo grinned, threading their fingers together over Thorin’s chest.

Thorin grinned back and they both closed their eyes for a minute, Bilbo nudging a warm toe against Thorin’s ankle.

“Did you manage to get any sleep?” Thorin asked, opening his eyes again to peer down at Bilbo. This seemed like a safer question than Dr Grey’s favourite: ‘How are you feeling?’.

“Some,” Bilbo said, fingers fiddling with the collar of Thorin’s pyjama top. “But I suppose I’ve been too nervous… and, well, _excited_ to sleep properly.”

Thorin smiled at that. He was glad Bilbo was excited, and he couldn’t deny that he was also starting to feel a little giddy.

“I can’t quite believe this is the last time I’ll wake up here.” Bilbo’s eyes were moving around the room with a mixture of wonder and sadness.

Thorin knew that, despite all the positives that went with being discharged, and all the progress it symbolised, it was going to be difficult for Bilbo to finally leave Ered Luin behind. He had woken in the same bed almost every morning for the past four years and today was going to bring about a lot of change. But they had both been well-prepared for this next part of their life together: there had been joint sessions with Dr. Grey and Bilbo’s escorted and unescorted leaves to his new flat had been appropriately paced over the past month, with him and Thorin having three overnight stays there this week. Thorin knew the hospital was going to do everything in its power to help Bilbo adjust to this change in scenery and routine.

It was then that a light knock on the door sounded and both of them looked up from the bed to see Rosie standing there with two breakfast menus in hand.

“When did you learn how to knock?” Bilbo said, rising onto his elbows with a smirk.

Rosie’s smile seemed a little strained as she moved into the room and came to the side of the bed, but she presented the menus to them with her usual flourish, suggesting she was trying to pull herself together, for Bilbo’s sake. Thorin’s chest tightened when he noticed the tell-tale redness of Rosie’s eyes. Although he knew everyone at the hospital was over the moon that Bilbo was finally being discharged, some goodbyes were certainly going to be very difficult.

“If you want to order coffee, Dr. Cox says she’s happy to rent out her machine… The kitchens have already run out of mushrooms, but they’re frying the bacon extra crispy today, and as compensation, you can have as many sachets of HP as you like.”

Rosie delivered these rehearsed lines with obvious reserve, and Thorin and Bilbo took their menus with murmured ‘thank yous’.

“Rosie…” Bilbo began, but then the nurse’s strained smile appeared again.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes to take your orders.”

Bilbo watched Rosie disappear from the room with a pained expression and Thorin took his hand beneath the covers.

“She’ll come around,” he said, leaning down to kiss his shoulder.

The look in Bilbo’s eyes was unreadable as he let out a sigh and rubbed at the back of his neck. “I don’t think this is just about my discharge.”

“Oh?” Thorin felt a stab of panic in his stomach. “Is… Is it Sam? They haven’t, er, broken up?”

“No, no, quite the opposite in fact,” Bilbo replied, keeping his voice low as he turned to Thorin. “There’s a nurse manager job going in a hospital down in Bristol… It’d be an excellent promotion and Rosie knows she’d be very good at it… But I think she’s a little torn over leaving here.”

Thorin nodded, brow furrowed. “Have you spoken to her about it?”

“I’m not really supposed to know… But Rosie knows that I know, she just won’t talk to me about it.”

“Because she’s afraid you’ll convince her to go for it?” Thorin said, surprised he was able to read the situation so well.

“I think so.”

Thorin wrapped an arm around Bilbo’s back and kissed his temple, and then they decided to start filling in their menus, wanting to get their orders in before the kitchen ran out of anything else.

It was Poppy who delivered their breakfasts and they ate in a comfortable quiet, with Thorin sensing both Bilbo’s growing nerves and growing excitement. Once finished, they dressed for the day and allowed each other a few appreciative glances whilst they pulled on their jeans and jumpers.

And then the only thing left to do was to pack up Bilbo’s remaining possessions.

It had taken several trips to the flat – and a fair amount of swearing – to transfer box after box filled with Bilbo’s vast hoard of books, and therefore everything else seemed to be transported incredibly easy in comparison. For their final night at the hospital, all that was left was a change of clothes and a few other bits and bobs Bilbo wanted to hang onto, as if he thought they were talismans, protecting him until the moment he wrote his name on the sign-out sheet.

Thorin turned to the cardboard box on the coffee table which contained Bilbo’s grey Birmingham hoodie, their pyjamas, the dark blue leather journal Thorin had bought him for his birthday, and a few books, including a copy of _Brideshead Revisited_. “What else is left?” he asked gently, looking over to Bilbo, who was standing by his bedside table.

“Not much,” Bilbo replied, picking up the two remaining photo frames which held a picture of him and Thorin and the picture Rosie had taken of their family gathered in the living room during his first escorted leave.

Bilbo moved around the bed, but stopped at his chest of drawers. His movements were almost guilty as he juggled the photo frames into the crook of his arm and opened the top drawer. He reached inside, hand moving to the very back of the drawer… and pulled out one of Thorin’s plaid shirts: a shirt Thorin hadn’t seen for over six months.

“You… you have my shirt?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “I thought I’d lost it.”

Bilbo came to his side and held out the long-lost shirt, still looking a little rueful. “I, er, sneaked into your room… when you had your first overnight leave in July… It smells of you and it, well, it helped a great deal… So much so that I was rather reluctant to give it back. I’m sorry.”

Thorin could only grin, moving his hand to the small of Bilbo’s back. “First Haldir’s cigarettes, now my shirt… Tell me, have you stolen anything else I should know about?”

“If I say ‘your heart’ are you going to dump me?”

“Maybe.”

“Ah, I won’t risk it then.”

They both chuckled and Thorin pushed the shirt wrapped around Bilbo’s hand back towards him. “Keep it,” he murmured. “I’m glad it made you feel better.”

With this permission, Bilbo carefully folded the shirt and placed it in the cardboard box on top of the photo frames.

“Only two things left now,” he said, moving around the coffee table to the window sill where the bronze statue of Ganesh stood guard, flanked on one side by the gimpy origami crane Thorin still couldn’t believe Bilbo had kept, and he felt the need to voice this thought.

“I still can’t believe you kept that.” He eyed the lopsided crane with distaste.

“You gave it to me, of course I wasn’t going to throw it away.” Bilbo held the crane up in his palm, inspecting it with a smile. “Anyway, as Radagast told us, cranes symbolise hope… I think he’s been a bit of a good luck charm for us.”

Deciding he couldn’t argue with that, Thorin said nothing and let Bilbo nestle the crane – who had turned out to be not quite so hopeless – and the statue of Ganesh into the soft dips of Thorin’s shirt. He then straightened up and looked around the now bare room, the look of pondering back in his expression. Thorin knew words probably weren’t going to help at this point and so he put a gentle hand on Bilbo’s shoulder, letting him know he was there, that they were going to go through this together.

“Everything that’s happened in this room,” Bilbo said, voice barely above a whisper. “And I… I still can’t quite believe I’ll never be here again… that this isn’t really my room anymore.”

Although he had been in his own room just next door for only a fraction of the time Bilbo had spent here in Ered Luin, Thorin still knew this feeling all too well. It was a sense of displacement, of seeing a room transform, get stripped away, and go back in time to the days before it was even aware of your existence.

“Well, I’m glad it will soon be of use to somebody else who needs it,” Bilbo said, after a few more long moments of contemplation.

“Morning, lads!”

Faramir’s arrival had been preceded by two sets of eager panting, and so Thorin and Bilbo already had wide smiles on their faces by the time the trainer appeared with Dain and Bilbo’s new assistance dog, a Golden Retriever named Sting. Faramir handed each dog’s respective lead over and Thorin gave Dain’s ears a good scratch whilst Bilbo dropped down into a crouch so he could give Sting a proper stroke and a cuddle.

Sting was an older, more experienced assistance dog and he and Bilbo seemed to be the perfect match. Thorin couldn’t deny how glad he was that Bilbo wouldn’t have to face a moment of his reintegration alone. The Golden Retriever would be accompanying him to all his lectures and tutorials at Leeds University, and he had even been given his own special pass for the university library.

Faramir had been doing some joint training sessions with Sting and Dain this week. The trainer admitted that he’d never encountered a situation where more than one member of a household had a service dog, but he was receiving guidance from several other trainers and charities, both in the UK and all over the world. It also helped a great deal that Sting and Dain got on like a house on fire and seemed fully comfortable – ecstatic even – in each other’s company.

“They’ve both been absolute stars,” Faramir said, beaming at the dogs with obvious admiration. “But any problems, you’ve got my number, just give me a ring.”

“Thanks, Faramir,” Bilbo said, rising to his feet.

“And I suppose I’ll see you both at the next support group meeting… But just a word of warning, Bilbo: the lads have got it into their heads that they’re going to throw you a bit of a welcome bash… They’ll probably embarrass themselves more than anything, but I’ll rein them in if I need to.”

Bilbo only grinned. “I’m sure there won’t be any problems.”

“Right, well, I’ll leave you to it… Good luck with today, Bilbo, and I’ll see you both soon.”

Thorin and Bilbo bid the trainer goodbye and then he disappeared, only to stick his head back around the door a second later with the news: “Your family’s just arrived!”

Bilbo’s posture grew tense, but Sting snuggled into his leg and licked at his fingers.

“Are you ready?” Thorin asked, coming to his side.

Bilbo drew in a deep breath, and then he smiled. “More than ready.”

With that, Thorin picked up the cardboard box from the coffee table and they both headed out onto the ward. Thorin had been aware of the nurses’ station seeming busier than usual that morning – especially seen as it wasn’t visiting hours – and he had seen a lot of people going past Bilbo’s room. He hadn’t, however, expected for them to be greeted by an enormous crowd of people as they went to join Dis, Fili, and Kili, ready to sign out.

Thorin’s eyes jumped from face to face: it seemed most of the staff on the ward, along with many of its patients, had gathered to see Bilbo off. It was then that Thorin noticed there were nurses and doctors in civilian clothing rather than scrubs, and staff who should have clocked off hours ago after their night shifts. He was sure he even spotted not only some patients who had been discharged during his first month there, but also some staff who had been transferred to other wards. It seemed everyone Bilbo had known during his time at the hospital had wanted to be there to say goodbye.

It was Dr. Grey who stepped forward first and he was holding the biggest envelope Thorin had ever seen. “My dear Bilbo,” he said, blue eyes twinkling. “It seems we have come to a fork in the road.”

Bilbo’s eyes were teary as he took the envelope, recognition repeatedly sparking in his green gaze as he looked around the room, and for a moment he seemed quite overwhelmed by it all. He then managed to regain himself and slowly pull out the huge, brightly coloured ‘New Home’ card from its envelope. As he opened it, Thorin saw that every space across the two pages was crammed with messages from the people who were, presumably, standing before them. Thorin’s stomach did a flip as his eyes moved over the detailed goodbyes. Not one person had simply signed their name, and it seemed everyone had something to thank Bilbo for.

“As happy as we are that you’re now able to continue on without us,” Dr. Grey said quietly, “We also want you to know how much you will be missed, and how much you have given to so many people during your time here.”

It was then that Bifur slowly raised both his hands and began to shake them in the sign for ‘applause’. Thorin knew that a crowd of people clapping would definitely disturb the other patients on the ward, and so the old soldier had found another way for them to show their gratitude. One by one, everyone followed Bifur’s lead and raised their hands in silent applause, and it made Thorin’s heart swell inside his chest as he took in the look of affection on each person’s face as they applauded Bilbo for his bravery and his compassion.

As hands were lowered, Bilbo began making his way through the crowd, tears running silently down his face as he said his goodbyes. Thorin waited patiently with Dis, Fili, and Kili, with Sting and Dain sitting side by side next to him. Bilbo took his time with each person, shaking hands and hugging, and even a surprised Haldir reciprocated Bilbo’s embrace with minimal awkwardness. Although Thorin couldn’t hear Bilbo’s parting words to Bifur and Ori, he knew they were no doubt full of love and support, and then the three of them crowded together, arms wrapped around each other’s backs as they said goodbye.

Finally, Bilbo moved back to the front of the crowd and found himself face to face with Rosie. Both of them stared at each other for one long moment, and then Rosie let out a sob and dragged Bilbo into her arms before she began crying in earnest. Thorin had never seen Rosie so emotional before and he couldn’t deny it was quite unnerving to see her completely crumbling before his eyes, but Bilbo was there holding her, and Poppy was rubbing her back and providing tissues.

After another long moment, Bilbo drew Rosie away and Thorin was sure he heard him whisper: “If it’s what you want, you should go for it.”

Rosie nodded, blowing her nose rather loudly, and then she smiled: a trademark Rosie smile this time, genuine and full of love. She kissed Bilbo’s cheek and then the two reluctantly stepped away, with Bilbo returning to Sting and Thorin and the rest of their family.

“We’ve already signed out,” Thorin said gently, fingers brushing Bilbo’s arm before he held out a pen to him. “Just you now.”

“It’s still strange realising I’m coming with you,” Bilbo said, wiping his eyes as he took the pen. “Right… I better sign out then.”

Radagast held the sheet out as Bilbo came to the nurses’ station and then, after a deep breath, he signed his name, placing the pen back on the clipboard.

“Okay.” Bilbo took a step back. “Let’s go.”

And so, with Dis leading the way, their little group were buzzed through the doors and everyone gathered in the ward waved them goodbye with more silent applause.

“Kinda looked like the closing number in a West End musical,” Fili grinned, holding Bilbo’s enormous card above her head to avoid it being crushed as they all piled into the lift.

“I suppose this is rather my curtain call,” Bilbo chuckled, giving her a nudge.

“Though that sounds a bit too ominous,” Fili said, brow furrowed. “How about ‘End of Act One’?”

“I like the sound of that.”

Everyone was fairly relieved that it was only a short drive to Bilbo’s new flat as it felt a little crowded in the car: Thorin, Bilbo, and Kili were piled into the back seat, Fili and Dis were in the front, with Sting and Dain in the boot. After confirming that Bilbo didn’t need to do any food shopping, they arrived at Shire Oak Court in less than ten minutes. Dis parked in Bilbo’s designated space in the carpark. Although Bilbo was unable to drive, March would mark six months since Thorin’s last blackout and he would therefore be eligible to retake his test and get his driver’s licence back, and so Bilbo had requested a parking space for him.

Thorin had seen many of the enormous grey tower blocks that loomed over parts of Leeds city centre and part of him had been loath to imagine Bilbo living in a flat in one of these featureless concrete buildings, but luckily the supported housing at Shire Oak Court looked very different. It was a nineteenth century factory building which had been renovated into flats, gaining its name from the distinctive courtyard which, come spring, would house an array of greenery at its centre.

They all clambered out of the car, with Thorin retrieving the cardboard box from the boot, and made their way to the beautiful green and gold painted wrought-iron gates that marked the entranceway to Shire Oak Court. Bilbo fished his keys out of his jeans pocket with a smile – he was constantly discovering little novelties of living outside the hospital, and having his own set of keys was one of them – and fobbed them through the gates into the courtyard.

One of Bilbo’s neighbours, Mrs. Tunnelly, was sitting, wrapped up warm against the cool February air, on a bench at the centre of the courtyard. Thorin and Bilbo had bumped into her a few times when she was sitting outside, waiting for her granddaughter to come and pick her up.

“That you all moved in now, pet?” she asked kindly, her eyes – which were magnified by her enormous, red-rimmed glasses – moved from Bilbo to the box Thorin was carrying.

“I think so, Mrs. T,” Bilbo replied, unable to hide a giddy smile. “You off to the shops with Jasmine?”

“Oh yes, but getting my hair done first,” Mrs. Tunnelly said, reaching a gloved hand up to pat the hair underneath her hat.

“Oh! Anything exciting? Going blonde? Extensions?”

“Oh, you silly thing!” Mrs. Tunnelly swatted at Bilbo with a smile and Thorin thought she might actually be blushing.

At first he had been worried that the majority of Bilbo’s neighbours seemed to be at least forty years older than him, but Bilbo had taken it all in his stride and had been charming all Shire Oak Court’s older residents until they were falling over each other trying to talk to him. They had already exchanged gardening tips and recipes and Bilbo had received many invitations for afternoon tea.

Bidding goodbye to Mrs. Tunnelly, they all followed Bilbo to his flat in the corner of the courtyard, which was the only one to have a dark green door. Fiddling with his keys again, Bilbo let them inside and they all moved down the hallway to the living room. The large, airy room, which now housed the majority of Bilbo’s extensive book collection, also featured an open plan kitchen and double doors out onto the terrace, where a row of plant pots could be seen. Sam’s seeds were already bedded down deep within the soil, waiting for spring to arrive.

“Do you want the box in here or in the bedroom?” Thorin asked, using a nod to indicate the door which led through to the double bedroom.

“Oh, if you just pop it on the coffee table, we’ll get to it in a minute,” Bilbo said, dropping his keys into an ornate ceramic bowl on the kitchen counter: one of the things Fili had picked out during her stint as Bilbo’s interior designer. The flat had come furnished, but Fili had still taken it upon herself to add the finishing touches to help Bilbo settle into his new home.

“Right, shall I put the kettle on?” Bilbo asked, once he had settled Sting down with Dain in their large, cosy bed in the corner of the room.

“Actually, Bilbo, I’m afraid we’ve got to get off – Kili’s got practice and we thought we’d leave you two to get properly settled in,” Dis said, and Thorin couldn’t tell if this was the truth or his sister was just being tactful.

“Ah, okay… But you’re still on for dinner this evening?” Bilbo asked, glancing behind at the kitchen Thorin knew he was absolutely desperate to use.

“Of course! We’ll be here at half six sharp – and you’re sure you don’t want us to bring anything?”

“Just yourselves,” Bilbo replied, giving Kili’s hair a ruffle. “And thank you… all of you… for helping me move in and just… well, for everything really.”

“Oi, soppy speeches are my thing now,” Fili grinned, moving in to give Bilbo a crushing hug. “Oh, and I totally forgot to tell you, Mum’s agreed to drive us out to IKEA next week!”

“God, I can’t remember the last time I went to IKEA,” Bilbo said, amused by Fili’s obvious enthusiasm. “Are you wanting me to pick out something utterly impossible to assemble so we can all watch your uncle shout at it?”

“Do you… need more furniture?” Thorin asked, peering at the fortress of bookshelves surrounding them.

“Not really, I just think you’re rather cute when you get cross,” Bilbo replied, making everyone laugh.

“Okay, guys, I think that’s our cue to leave,” Dis said, rounding her children up. “See you both at half six, ring me if you need anything.”

“We will,” Bilbo said, hugging Dis and kissing her cheek.

The Oakenshields thus headed back down the hallway and Fili, being last through the door, decided to turn around and call out: “Be safe, kids!”. This was followed by laughter and a ‘Fili!’ from Dis as the door was shut.

Thorin stood staring, rather awkwardly, after his family as the colour slowly crept into his cheeks. He and Bilbo had made love for the first time two nights ago during one of their unescorted stays. It had been a slow and tender but passionate affair, with a few false-starts and missteps, but still, for Thorin, it had been so unutterably perfect. He had, however, asked Bilbo – despite his insistence that it was ‘completely understandable’ – not to tell Dr. Cox that they’d both cried a little afterwards… and in Thorin’s case, during.

Fully aware that he lived with a family of telepaths, Thorin was unsurprised by Dis’ knowing look the next day, but he wished he could’ve been spared Fili’s shit-eating grin and the fact that he could practically hear her sing-song voice in his head saying ‘Uncle got laaaiiiddddd!’.  

“Thorin?”

Bilbo had laced their fingers together and was now looking up at Thorin with a half-frown.

Thorin coughed. “Er, sorry… Did… Did you say something?”

“I asked if you wanted to unpack our final box?” Bilbo prompted, indicating the cardboard box on the table behind them.

“Of course,” Thorin said, happy to be moving his thoughts onto another topic. “Shall I put my shirt in a drawer in the bedroom?”

“If you wouldn’t mind, but can you hang it with your other clothes?”

Thorin picked the folded shirt out of the box. “You don’t, er, want it with your clothes…? I mean… I meant what I said, that you should keep it.”

“But if you put it with your clothes it’ll start to smell like you again,” Bilbo said, with a quiet smile. “It’s kind of lost your smell now.”

Trying not to blush again, Thorin nodded. “I’ll hang it in my cupboard. Anything else?”

“Oh, if you could pop my journal in my bedside drawer too?”

“Done and done.”

Thorin disappeared into the bedroom with his charges and took great pains to ensure his shirt was tucked nicely between his other clothes so that it would start to smell of him again. When he returned, he found Bilbo standing in the middle of the room with the bronze Ganesh idol held between his open palms. Thorin came to stand behind him, carefully wrapping his arms around Bilbo’s waist and resting his chin on his shoulders.

“You okay?” he asked gently, nudging his nose into Bilbo’s neck.

“He’s been through quite a lot, hasn’t he? Our Ganesh?”

Bilbo used one finger to trace the still visible line around the elephant-headed god’s trunk, where it had been snapped clean off when Thorin threw it across his short-stay room. It seemed the Ganesh statue now had its own scars, just as Thorin and Bilbo both had theirs. But, in Thorin’s eyes, the crack around its trunk didn’t diminish its value or the meaning behind everything it had been through, and it didn’t stop it from being a remover of obstacles.

“Where shall we put him?” Bilbo asked, his tone reverent.

“How about the window sill next to the terrace doors?” Thorin suggested, eyes moving to the low sill which looked out onto Bilbo’s garden.

“That sounds like a good idea,” Bilbo agreed. He slipped from Thorin’s arms and placed their Ganesh down in the centre of the sill so that he would get plenty of sunlight.

Bilbo then returned to Thorin’s arms, pressing his back against his chest and tilting his head so he could see his face. “I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you,” Thorin replied, leaning down to kiss Bilbo’s forehead.

He knew there were many things they wanted to say, about this next stage in their journey together, about everything they had endured to get here, about their hopes and fears for the future… but for now, those three words were enough.

Thorin’s eyes returned to the statue of Ganesh that seemed to have settled into its place on the window sill as if it had always been there. Holding Bilbo closer to him, Thorin thought of the first time he had been presented with the statue, and he thought of all the people in his life who had turned out to be removers of obstacles. At first he had thought only Bilbo had that power, but then he had discovered that it also belonged to Fili, and Kili, and Dis. To Dr. Grey, and Radagast, and Rosie. To everyone he had encountered on his road to recovery… and, most surprisingly, he had discovered that the power to remove obstacles also belonged to himself.

Staring at the statue was like staring down the road he and Bilbo had ahead of them, but now he felt as if they were both more than ready to face it. He knew that there would always be obstacles in the road, that there would always be new challenges to face, such was life, such as it was to be human, but with Bilbo at his side, Thorin knew that together, they would overcome anything the universe had left to throw at them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *hands out boxes of tissues* *keeps one for myself because I am definitely crying right now*
> 
> Now, Fili’s not the only one who can make soppy speeches! 
> 
> Okay, it has been really difficult to organise this final author’s note… I have so much to say, so please bear with me and excuse the seemingly random order of these emotional ramblings. 
> 
> First of all, I’m gonna throw some stats at you.
> 
> ‘Obstacles’ has been written over the course of two years and twenty-two days, in two different countries, in four different cities, and at five different desks. I have taken this story everywhere with me, whether it be on my laptop or in a notebook, and as I’ve said to many of you in my replies, this fic has been such a HUGE part of my life for such a long time, and it is very surreal to find myself sitting here with a completed story under my belt. 
> 
> Some of you have told me in your feedback that ‘Obstacles’ has had a positive impact on your life, and knowing that has honestly been the best feeling in the world. I never expected this story to become so popular and the fact that it has been able to help people will never fail to bring a smile to my face. Equally, this fic has also been an incredibly cathartic experience for me. It’s helped me exorcise a lot of my own mental health demons and also gave me the strength and the self-esteem to apply for a new job and get myself out of a pretty horrible situation. 
> 
> Random fact: Around Chapter 18 I almost accidentally deleted the whole story whilst messing about on my phone during my commute to work. Waiting for the page to load to check I hadn’t actually deleted it was probably one of the longest minutes of my life. 
> 
> And now some massive thank yous: 
> 
> Firstly, to my junior doctor friends for answering all my questions about this fic, even when they came at inopportune moments or you just really, really wanted to sleep. You guys are awesome and ‘Obstacles’ would never have been the same without your support. 
> 
> Secondly, to my parents, who still think I’m writing a novel, but have been brilliant at helping me out with all the questions Google couldn’t give definitive answers to, from childcare, to football, to what you call that handle on the inside of a car door. You guys are amazing and maybe one day I’ll finally let you read this. 
> 
> Thirdly, to CathH and Berunien, who have put up with hour-long phone and Skype calls about this fic and have shaped this story in a way I never could've done on my own. I can’t thank either of you two enough! *blows kisses* 
> 
> And fourthly, to you, my readers. I’m gonna need another box of tissues for this bit… *blows nose loudly* Whether you joined me at the beginning, the middle, or the end, thank you, thank you, THANK YOU to all of you for reading, commenting, bookmarking, leaving kudos, and for helping me to keep writing when I was ready to give up. I’ve seen a few posts on Tumblr recently regarding feedback on fics and all I can say is: everything, literally everything, is true. I was so close to abandoning this story after Chapter 5, but it was getting some really encouraging comments that made me want to keep writing… and now here we are with fifty-seven chapters posted ;) I’m aware that I start to sound like my characters in my comments, but I’m gonna get my Bilbo on and say I don’t think I’ll ever be able to find the words to express just what all your support has meant to me, but I hope you know that for the past two years, you have made this author very, very happy. 
> 
> And now the road goes ever on! Thorin and Bilbo’s story doesn’t end here: the first chapter of ‘Dust in the Road’ should be posted sometime in September, so please do leave me prompts in the comment section for this chapter – angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, smut, whatever takes your fancy, I’ll do my best to accommodate!
> 
> This author’s note is in danger of getting longer than the actual epilogue, so I think it’s about time I wrapped this up. Thank you again to everyone who has supported this story, it’s been one hell of a journey, but you know, I think I’m quite ready for another adventure ;)


End file.
